


A Dinahmite Collection

by FoxoftheDesert



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Appropriate Tags will be added along with additional chapters, Dinah is a Siren Whisperer, Dinah is a secret Christmas movie fanatic, Dinah thinks Laurel is hot all roughed up, Dinahmite!, F/F, Laurel is a morning person, Laurel isn't a fan of the holidays, Laurel likes to fight, Occasional fluff, One Shot Collection, also some angst, dinahsiren - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxoftheDesert/pseuds/FoxoftheDesert
Summary: One shots featuring Dinah Drake and Laurel Lance.  Other Flarrowverse characters may show up.





	1. 'Tis the Season for Hallmark Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Laurel muses about her changing attitude toward Hallmark movies, all thanks to Dinah.

'Tis the season and all that shit.

Honestly, Laurel harbors no fondness for the holidays. Never has, even when her family was still picture perfect Americana where football was watched on Sunday afternoons and homemade apple pie was eaten. Any deeper meaning to Christmas was totally lost on a kid who only cared about the shiny wrapped presents under the tree with her name on them. Her parents, though? That was another story.

Since the first Christmas she can remember up until she was twelve, the year her Mom died in childbirth, her parents went all out. Like...her Mom was almost manic about it. There were Christmas knickknacks in every fucking window sill of every stripe both religious and secular, festively colored drapes, reindeer and Santa Claus themed rugs and mats on the floors, bows and baubles and ribbons adorning the light fixtures, a fancy wreath on the front door, and the most exquisitely ornate tree in the entire neighborhood. And that isn't including the visible-from-space light show her father put on in the front yard that would rival Riverside's Festival of Lights.

All of her friends wanted to hang at her place during that time of year because none of their mothers did half as much decorating or seasonal cooking, especially since sugar cookies shaped as various ornaments or other sweet confections were usually available at all hours of the day. The neighbors seethed with envy at her father's handiwork in the yard and at how he could beat their asses to claim top prize for Christmas decorating from the HOA by transforming an ordinary six thousand square foot lot into Santa's Crib at the North Pole in a single weekend. None of that meant much to Laurel, though, who even as a child exhibited cynical, misanthropic tendencies. For her parents' sake, she pretended to be the prototypical kid ebullient with energy and joy for the holiday season all the while inside she was silently counting the days until it was over and things would go back to normal again.

As an adult, when the holidays would roll around she would often mope about whatever hellhole she happened to be crashing in at the time, reminiscing – against her will by the way – about the how wonderful life used to be in comparison with her present wretched circumstance. With a bottle of cheep booze and an impressive supply of drugs on hand, heroin was her personal favorite, she would celebrate by alternating getting piss drunk and totally blitzed until every last vision of an idyllic home at Christmas time was banished from her illicit substance-addled brain. Granted, it was not a productive coping mechanism, but it worked fairly well. Up until recently, Smack and Jack were the only friends she could rely on to get her through the pain that was her existence until the New Year rolled around.

My, how drastically things have changed in only four measly years.

"Oh, God! Laurel, no! How could you? How could you be so selfish, woman?"

Leaning back, brows in her hairline, eyes as wide as saucers, Laurel stares at her distressed girlfriend as if she's grown a second head. The hand Dinah is currently clamping onto with the force of an aluminum-extrusion press is rapidly starting to lose feeling, though Laurel is too mystified to do anything about it. This is an experience she could never have prepared herself for. If given a million guesses she would never have stumbled over the fascinating fact that Dinah Drake, hard ass detective and kick ass vigilante, was a secret fanatic over Hallmark Christmas movies.

"Stop! Don't do it! No no no no no!! Don't you dare walk away from him, Marci. Don't you fucking dare!"

Laurel is far too shocked by Dinah's outburst directed at the film's protagonist to respond audibly. Sadly her inner opinion does not share that difficulty.

Jesus Christ. How can she be so invested in this inane, soulless, assembly line romantic drivel? 'Aww, c'mon, baby...it'll be fun! Just the two of us snuggled up on the couch in our pajamas, sipping hot chocolate, watching two people fall in love to the background Spirit of Christmas? What could beat that?' Umm, how about watching Ollie endure watching Felicity try to cook a traditional Hanukkah meal for Team Arrow. Now that is what I call quality entertainment. This? Aside from the delicious hot chocolate and the gorgeous babe in my arms, this is...torture. Almost makes me regret saying yes.

Laurel chastises herself for the thought as soon as it crosses her mind because she knows it isn't true. For the largest part anyway.

It really was the highlight of her month last year when Ollie and Felicity had the entire team over to celebrate Hanukkah with them. She and Dinah got there hours early to help with the prep work since Dinah figured she could help with some of the cooking since her she spent a large portion of her childhood in the kitchen with either her mother or grandmother, especially around Hanukkah, learning the traditional recipes brought to the New World from Hungary by her maternal great-grandparents. And she totally could have since another one of Dinah's secrets is that she is a fan-fucking-tastic cook. Unfortunately, Felicity being Felicity meant the mostly lovable nerd was bound and determined to do it all on her own. And Ollie being Ollie meant the fireworks started before the party even got kicked off because Felicity set the frying pan on fire making the latkes. Dinah sprang into action, of course, heroically swooping in to save the day by rescuing dinner. Hell, she even managed to teach Felicity how to make authentic about sufganiyot and challah bread without turning the kitchen into a disaster zone.

Outside of the things she has grown to love not associated with the actual holidays, those things being Dinah and their friends, nothing will ever make Laurel enjoy them for their own sake. There is no amount of therapy or love that can transform that bottomless pit of bitterness into anything resembling holiday cheer. But! Dinah sure does make her want to. And that is reason enough for her to woman up and take one on the chin by watching a different Hallmark – or another equally saccharine – Christmas movie every...single...night. Besides it's only a four weeks a year. If it means Dinah will be sprawled halfway in her lap, sometimes laughing, sometimes sobbing, sometimes screaming at their humongous big screen…? Well, for that Laurel can sacrifice two hours a night for twenty-five days to watch the most disgustingly sappy programming in the history of television. If she's being completely honest she would probably do it just for the watery, moon-eyed smiles Dinah points her way at the end of each movie when the couple kisses under the mistletoe or in front of fully trimmed Christmas tree. 'Cause you know what? That means Laurel is about to a kiss, too. And she is the world's number one fan of Dinah's kisses.

Truth be told, there isn't much Laurel won't do for Dinah. So that's why she supportively rubs Dinah's back as the current couple in question miss their chance at their happily ever after. She holds Dinah tight as she cries when the spunky, intrepid blonde protagonist, Marci, gets a phone call late on Christmas Eve from a mutual friend informing her that the devastatingly charming and handsome and tenderhearted Kevin was in a tragic accident and is fighting for his life in emergency surgery. And when Marci visits him in his room on Christmas, a gift shop tree in hand, and the newly minted couple share their first kiss, Laurel's heart begins to race all of its own accord. She knows what's coming and can hardly wait for it to arrive.

As the credits roll, Dinah pulls away and readjusts so she can lean in closer, their faces drawing closer by the second. Her mesmerizing green eyes shimmer in the flickering candlelight from the lit menorah on the coffee table. A plump lower lip is tucked between pearly white teeth as their noses brush. Laurel's heart swells up in her chest and her lungs temporarily stop functioning in anticipation of the coming contact. But then, just as their lips are just about to brush together, Dinah halts her progress.

"Merry Christmas, baby," Dinah says in a breathy tone that makes Laurel warm and tingly all over.

"Happy Hanukkah, darlin'," Laurel returns in their now-habitual way, and then leans up to seal the kiss that she has been waiting two excruciating fucking hours for.

But, oh! It is oh so worth the wait. Seconds pass as they linger, enjoying the sensation of their lips joined together, neither in a rush to hurry things along. They have plenty of time after all, a whole night stretching out before them with no need to get up for work in the morning at the ass-crack of dawn. Needing to feel more than Dinah's lips, Laurel works a hand up the length of Dinah's bare arm, up a toned bicep, over a shapely shoulder without hooking the straps to a candy cane striped tank top, and then gently cups a strong jaw. Appreciative as always of little gestures like that, Dinah makes this sinful noise of pleasure that drives Laurel wild and then responds by tilting her head to change the angle. Time becomes irrelevant as Laurel breathes into their deepened kiss, her lips parting in enthusiastic welcome to Dinah's velvet tongue.

How long they sit there exchanging probing, worshipful kisses and indulging in some pretty heavy petting, Laurel can't really say. What she does know is that somewhere between that first intense kiss and when they finally separate, Dinah has maneuvered herself all the way onto Laurel's lap, where she is sitting right now with her hair slightly mussed, cheeks flushed enticingly, and her lips all glistening and kiss-swollen. Silence stretches out between them, an infinite chasm that swallows up other concerns and plans and thoughts and intentions in a gravity well of blissful serenity. Nothing else exists in the here and now except them, together, tidally locked in the inescapable attraction of their mutual affection and devotion.

Unable to speak, Laurel simply stares at Dinah as Dinah stares back at her. Thing is, Dinah is looking at her like she is the most precious being in all of the universe, as if having entered that dream world comprised solely of a room full of nondescript doors and thrown one open at random only to have unexpectedly emerged into a reality that is the sum of her every heartfelt wish and desire which is incidentally embodied in the form of one person: Laurel. No one has ever looked at Laurel the way Dinah does. No one. Not even her father – either of them. And that one look right there? It is the epitome of Dinah's love: everything Dinah is and has and ever will be, condensed down into one pure incomprehensible moment where it is poured out with reckless abandon.

There are no words by which Laurel could express the immeasurable feeling of awe, or of unworthiness, that engulfs her entire body down to the quintessential essence of her existence at being the recipient of that love. And the most awesome part of it all is that she sees it at least once every single day.

"How did I get so fucking lucky?" she asks, meaning it rhetorically as there is no plausible explanation she would accept as to why Dinah loves her. That is the greatest mystery of her life and one she is content to leave unsolved forever.

"Not lucky," Dinah replies, smiling that smile that makes Laurel's world revolve on its axis, "Blessed. Both of us are. So, so blessed." Settling down fully onto Laurel's lap, she cups Laurel's face with both hands. "I never imagined I could be so happy..."

Laurel interrupts her with a wry grin. "Especially not with me. Betcha never would've pictured this scenario back when Quentin was the only thing standing between us and the final grisly showdown."

Dinah shakes her head, not with disappointment or anger at Laurel's deflection, but with a sympathy only she can get away with scot-free. "Maybe not. To me that just means I have that much more to be thankful for. We could've killed each other. But we didn't. We could still hate each other. But we don't. And we could both be so damaged by what we've gone through and by what we've done to each other to ever have normal lives. But we aren't." Shoulders rolling matter-of-factly, she sucks in a deep breath and then releases it with a whoosh. "Life threw everything it could at us, tried to break us, tried to prevent this – us – from ever happening. It would be so easy to write that off as standard-fare cruelty of the world or them's just the breaks, kid. Instead of taking that route, I choose to believe that there was a purpose to it. That we were put through hell so we can not only say we earned this but so we can appreciate it as much as we should. You know? And I do. I thank God for you every day."

Laurel can attest to that. Every morning while Laurel gets ready for work, Dinah conducts a private service from the comfort of their dining room table. As she gazes out the window facing east toward her ancestral homeland and bathes in the nascent sunlight whilst sipping at her coffee and nibbling at her bagel, she silently converses with a deity Laurel does not believe in. When they got together, this was not a thing at all, as Dinah was as every bit as secular-oriented. But about a year later after they paid a visit to what remains of the Drake family in Missouri, Dinah began to reconnect with the roots she once thought she had forever left behind. Lapsed Catholic turned stringent atheist that Laurel is, for a while she begrudged her girlfriend's development of a nonconformist reverence toward a religion passed down to her through untold generations. Thankfully living with and sharing an intimate relationship with a believer has taught Laurel a lot about tolerance that she never could have learned from anyone else. Again, there isn't much she won't do for Dinah Drake, even choke down a near-rabid disdain for dogmatic traditions.

So that Dinah could remain free from judgment for and guilt over her slightly unorthodox Judaic ideology while at home, Laurel forced herself to search more diligently for some value intrinsic to it rather than openly show scorn as she would have were they to be suddenly displaced into the pre-Dinah past. Up until that point, she had regarded all Abrahamic religions as premium exemplars of the oppressive, authoritarian, prohibitive, retrograde forces such archaic systems exert upon humanity at large. Then again, at that time she would have also insisted that Dinah Drake was nothing but a nasty bitch that needed to be gifted six feet of earth heaped up over her rotting corpse. Isn't it ironic how life turns prideful beliefs upside down and then shoves them down the offender's throat? Laurel certainly thought so when she found herself in a romantic relationship with said Dinah Drake while also learning to tolerate the observance of a theology she once vehemently loathed.

As logic dictates, progress did not occur over night, but the more Laurel observed Dinah's humble and informal method of worship at home, the more the blinders of what she once believed to be a totally rational enmity were peeled away. An inch at a time they came down as time and again she witnessed how that lifestyle informed Dinah's moral and ethical core, and observed with no small amount of respect at how Dinah's quietly unassuming faith gave her courage and fortitude to persevere through trials that would have been much more difficult to survive otherwise. Little by little, the hatred burning in Laurel's heart for organized religion dimmed into a tiny, solitary, flickering flame. And then one day she woke up and it hit her all at once with the force of a hundred sledgehammers how bigoted she had been to wholesale dismiss the good that originates from clinging to religious convictions just so she could hold on to her prejudices at the expense of painful honesty.

Make no mistake, there is no conversion visible upon the undulating landscape of Laurel's future, but that does not mean she will ever ask Dinah to stop practicing her faith at home. The old Laurel probably would have insisted upon it as nonnegotiable terms of continuing their relationship as she had twice previously back on Earth-2. That Laurel was also alone and miserable for most of her life, in particular around the holidays. And since this Laurel does not miss those days, she has voluntarily adopted a few lifestyle changes that had relatively low impact, mundane stuff like shopping kosher as much as is feasible and not bitching about the smattering of thematic artwork that has appeared in the apartment since Dinah rented out her house and moved in. Every minute they are together makes those minor sacrifices worth it, a point of view Sara insisted reminds her very much of the sister she lost.

"You may act a lot different than she did," Sara once told Laurel during a visit to Star City on her most recent Legends hiatus, "but you both love the same way: with every last atom of your being. And that just so happens to be the one thing about my Laurel I envied most. Guess that means I envy you, too."

Laurel shivers at being found to have something in common with her deceased doppelganger. Loving Sara came pretty easily, but she has yet to derive any satisfaction from comparisons to a woman who is so revered as to have achieved an almost mythical status within the circle to which she now belongs. However much she has evolved and will continue to, there is no hope of competing with the memory of Saint Laurel the First. Frankly, Dinah never having met the Black Canary whose leather suit and heeled boots she was tasked to fill is a big reason Laurel was able to let herself really and truly fall in love again. She never has to wonder who Dinah is thinking about when calling her name in the throes of passion or which Laurel she is referring to when she mumbles in her sleep. And that is such an immense comfort to someone who spent several years at war with a ghost that wore her face, spoke with her voice, and moved her body in exactly the same way. Thanks to Dinah, Laurel is now mostly free of that struggle, and would very much like to keep it that way.

Concluding her brief internal contemplation before any more unwelcome associations arise, Laurel starts to think up an appropriate reply to Dinah's touching statement only to abruptly change tracks when a line of inquiry pops into head that she cannot resist following.

"Good little Jewish girl that you are, can I ask why you love corny Christmas movies so much?" she asks, still a bit spellbound over Dinah's stirring speech.

"Hah! I'm far from good. Just ask my Rabbi," says Dinah, who then rolls off Laurel's lap then promptly curls back into her side.

I have asked him, Laurel thinks. In fact, I told him a redacted version of our story and he agreed with my assessment that you're a fucking angel for putting up with all of my shit. Although she wants to so badly to voice that thought, she bites her tongue to avoid inciting an argument.

"As for your question," Dinah continues without acknowledging Laurel's silent disapproval over her unnecessary self-deprecation, "all the blame for my addiction to Christmas movies can be laid at the feet of my Aunt Shara. I used to watch them with her when she'd visit for the holidays. She liked mocking them, more for the ridiculous hopefulness than for any Christian or Euro-Pagan themes, and I did too for a while. But somewhere along the way I developed a fascination that was stoked into a full blown obsession when I was in college. Remember Shelby?"

Laurel nods. Shelby was Dinah's best friend in high school before they lost touch. One moving to New York for college while the other went off and joined the Marine Corps will do that to a friendship. Laurel met Shelby this past July while they were on vacation in Hawaii. Dinah ran into the successful businesswoman on the beach of all things and promptly introduced her old friend, who at subsequent impromptu dinner reunion confessed to being the reason Dinah joined the Corps. Turns out Shelby's brother Andrew was a Marine who died in Afghanistan and Dinah met his unit at the funeral. The way those grieving Marines conducted themselves made such an impression that she decided a career in law enforcement could wait. The summer after graduation she enlisted. Dinah served eight years as an intelligence specialist in the Corps, including numerous deployments to Afghanistan, before being honorably discharged so she could return to her originally projected career path.

"Well," Dinah goes on, "the Christmas after Andrew was killed, Shelby was so depressed she didn't go home, was hardly eating or sleeping, and I was worried about her so I stayed with her at our dorm. We must have watched every Christmas movie ever made. 'It's a Wonderful Life' and 'The Muppet Christmas Carol' twice. Slowly but surely she started to smile and laugh again. By the second day, she was eating and looked more like herself than she had in months. I watched her transform with my very own eyes. And it wasn't the movies themselves, it was the spirit of them, what they represented. Hope. That yeah, life can be really shit, but it can also be beautiful, and we can't let the bad outweigh the good or all the suffering is pointless. The next year, we went our separate ways to visit family, but I watched the movies anyway. Been doing it ever since. Does that make me weird?"

"No," Laurel says, running a finger over the fluffy material of Dinah's pajama bottoms atop her thigh. "If anything, it just makes you more adorable, which I didn't think was possible."

A pointedly shy smile stretches across Dinah's bewitching lips. "Aww! That's sweet. Thanks, babe. I have to admit, though, to having another reason to love them now."

Brow arching, Laurel nudges Dinah's shoulder. "Oh, yeah? What's that, kedvesem?"

Dinah's smile intensifies. She was so proud when Laurel started learning Hungarian to fit in better at Drake family get-togethers that she took it upon herself to personally speed up the training. Every day Dinah added new terms and phrases the linguistic software did not cover then drilled Laurel on what she had learned up to the point. Finally after what seemed like years but was only five months they were speaking it casually around the house. Sometimes they still do, which is fine with Laurel because she likes the flow and sound. Plus she never gets tired of how animated Dinah becomes when slipping into her ancestral tongue.

The best part of the effort for Laurel was the insane amount of brownie points she won with Dinah. Damn she could get away with so much when she wielded Hungarian on Dinah and then deployed her famous weaponized pout. But there was also a secondary reward in that she at last burrowed into the graces of Dinah's aforementioned aunt Shana, who finally stopped referring to Laurel as 'that scrawny Aryan Shiksa' whenever Dinah wasn't listening. The first time Laurel heard that nasty epithet, she almost lost her shit. Tragically she was in no position to get away with berating her girlfriend's closest and most beloved living relative in front of the entire extended Drake family. So she bit her tongue, plastered on a fake ass smile, and did what she does best according to Dinah: politic like the morally challenged lawyer that she is. Not that it greatly helped her cause. Oh well. Let Shara or any of Dinah's other aunts, uncles, or cousins continue to call her whatever ugly names the perpetually snarky lady can conjure up. Dinah's happiness is all she has ever been concerned about, and that isn't going to change no matter who mocks her or disapproves of her.

Good thing Dinah puts up with my return fire at her cantankerous aunt. Laurel has never been one to back down from a challenge, which is probably the only reason why Shara mostly disparages her affectionately these days. If that's even a thing...

"I get to watch them with you." Dinah's softly spoken answer to Laurel's question wrenches her out of her head and returns her to the present.

And what a beautiful present it is, all wrapped up in candy cane pajamas yet essentially woven with invisible yet tangible threads of a strength that cannot be conquered and a love that surpasses the boundaries of the impossible. Leaning heavily into Laurel's side, Dinah slides her right hand down Laurel's left arm until their palms are flush and then cords their fingers together. When she again speaks, the emotion evident in her words and her every minute movement flows into and through Laurel as though gentle waves of acceptance and adoration she would not resist even if she could.

"You make everything in my life better, Laurel Lance. Even endearingly schmaltzy Christmas movies."

Laurel sucks in a breath, tears pooling rapidly at her eyelids. "You need to stop that kind of talk or I'm gonna cry."

"Can't have that, can we?" Dinah says, lips quirking up at one corner, understanding painted all over her ridiculously attractive features. "God forbid you tarnish that bad girl image."

"Bah. You love that I'm a bad girl." And if Dinah denies that, she's a liar.

As expected, Dinah doesn't deny it. What point is there anyway when during warm weather months she struts around the city once every couple of weeks wearing a t-shirt that proudly proclaims Good Girls Love Bad Girls. They get a lot of compliments about it that Dinah accepts with graceful blushes while Laurel owns them with a smugness born of over a decade of practice at being the latter.

"Guilty as charged, Counselor. What's my sentence?"

Laurel is only too thrilled to assume the role being requested of her. She does so love this game of theirs.

"A kiss for starters. We'll see where we go from there depending on how you behave."

An expression that impossible to misinterpret as anything but wicked stretches across Dinah's too-pretty visage as she leans in. "And if I'm very, very naughty? What will you do then, Miss Lance?"  
  
Never one to back down from a challenge or pass up an opportunity to get Dinah naked, Laurel hoods her eyes and adopts a smile that really emphasizes her dimples – aka Dinah's kryptonite.

"Guess you'll have to find out," she says in her best bedroom tone. "If you're brave enough, that is."

To Laurel's delight, Dinah rises to the occasion. And as she lays in bed several hours later with Dinah spooned snugly against her, she can't help but look forward to tomorrow night.

Another Hallmark movie. Another kiss. Another night with Dinah in my arms. What more could I ever ask for? Merry Christmas to me, indeed.

Neither for the first nor the last time this month, Laurel falls asleep with a smile on her face and a joy in her heart that has nothing to do with the season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays everyone! =P


	2. A Dinahmite Time of Day: Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurel loves morning. Wonder why?

**L** aurel loves morning. Always has. When she was a kid, she would bounce out of bed, giddy and brimming with excitement for another day of instructive adventure with her Mom or for the many silly and fun activities of little to no redeeming value her Dad preferred. Her parents used to call her Morning Glory because they couldn't remember her ever waking up without a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eye. Throughout school ages, she would wake up full of anticipation to learn something new, which made her Mom so proud to have inculcated such a passion for knowledge in her daughter. When her Mom died, and even at her lowest point after her Dad's death, she would still arise full of energy until realization of her losses drained it all away.

The joy of a new day returned in earnest upon reinventing herself as Black Siren. There was an addictive quality to waking to the dangerous thrill of the world being one's playground singing through her veins. Only the euphoria of actually enacting her fantasies of violent revenge and inciting mayhem could equal the high of them being the very first thing that popped into her mind upon being roused by the rising of the sun. Breakfast was infinitely more savory and her morning shower more refreshing while plotting out nefarious schemes that normally involved mass destruction or indiscriminate killing or a tasty mix of both. And the morning after a successful venture? Well, that was an occasion arousing enough to start the day of the absolute best way possible.

Though life is very different for Laurel now in the wake of her reemergence into civilization and she is encumbered by weighty responsibilities that she could not have handled less than a year ago, her love for morning has never wavered. In fact, it is stronger than ever before seeing as her job, while stressful as all hell on a good day, fulfills and challenges her in unexpected ways every single day. Serving as District Attorney for an area the size of Star City affords her ample opportunity to finally put that passion for learning her mother instilled in her to good use. And while the joy of a productive and profoundly meaningful career is incomparable to the titillation of evil deeds, the distinction has no negative connotation. Strangely enough, putting bad people like she used to be behind bars has healed a lot of the scarring left behind from her father being murdered for trying to do the same.

More than anything else, though, Laurel loves mornings because of Dinah. Used to when she had a lover sleep over, she immediately left them in bed upon waking – she is always the first up – and went on about her daily rituals until they roused. At which time she would thank them with a complimentary kiss or maybe breakfast depending on how well they performed, or if they did not quite measure up to her high standards be promptly shown the door. With Dinah, she has started up a new, far more pleasant and entertaining routine.

You see, Dinah is an unpredictable creature whose reaction to waking can never be accurately gauged before the event occurs. Some mornings she'll jerk awake with a gasp, eyes huge and flitting frantically about their bedroom, chest heaving as she recovers from a nightmare that quickly evaporates into the ether as her senses reactivate. There are sadly a lot of nightmares. Dinah has seen a lot of heinous shit in her life – that some of it was perpetrated by Laurel herself certainly puts a temporary damper on her morning enthusiasm. Other mornings Dinah will growl angrily and get incrementally combative as Laurel persistently pats at her hip, tickles the shell of her ear, or lightly scratches at her back or shoulder to irritate her awake since she's slept through the alarm again. Invariably, that amusing tendency of Dinah's to sleep like the dead will be blamed on Laurel as they rush out the door – both of them late for work because for whatever reason Laurel has all sorts of trouble forcing herself out of their apartment so long as Dinah is still inside – for either ' _deviously_ _manipulating_ ' her to stay up too late watching TV or for having exhausted her the night before during naked fun time. Laurel just grins, making sure her dimples are really prominent, and wears Dinah's grumpiness like a badge of honor.

The best mornings of all are when Dinah comes awake slow and easy. On their sides facing one another, with a drowsy smile turning up those luscious lips, she'll just lie there gazing at Laurel through hooded eyes for the longest time, all languid and content, in no rush to leave the cocoon of warmth and comfort that is their bed. Once the haze of sleepiness has dissipated enough to formulate thoughts that can then be expressed intelligibly, she'll greet Laurel with a huskily whispered, "Hi," and then prove unable to resist temptation to indulge her affectionately tactile nature. Soft hands will start to wander then, growing braver by the second. Laurel only ever lies still, studying Dinah's face as fingertips trace her jawline and nose and lips, or a smooth palm slides down her bare arm only to change course and then snake beneath the hem of her tank top where it dances over her abs or caresses the small of her back. When Dinah is feeling especially frisky, she'll start her hand on Laurel's knee, work it slowly up her thigh massaging and stroking a path to the threshold of her boxers, only to then sneak under into dangerous territory. On mornings like that when they're invariably running late by the time they're ready for work, Laurel leaves the apartment looking like the Siren that ate the Canary, which doesn't even bother Dinah because she floats all the way downstairs to her government issued sedan.

Whether there is hanky panky or not, Laurel wouldn't trade a single morning with Dinah for a thousand with anyone else. There is not a single soul who better understands her than Dinah and is yet able to love her in spite of her innumerable and acute flaws. Nobody except Dinah can make her heart flutter and flood with delicious warmth from just holding her hand or kissing her forehead or saying those three little words _just because_. Only Dinah can, with a single coy glance or a breathy utterance of her name, cause her brain to furiously flick the fight or fuck switch to the down position. And Dinah alone inspires her to be a better person by simply being herself. There is only one Dinah Miriam Drake, which makes Dinah Laurel Lance the luckiest bitch on the entire planet. Hell, on any planet – including the insane number of alternate Earths.

So yeah. Laurel loves mornings. Who wouldn't in her position?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll hit afternoon, evening, and night eventually!


	3. The First Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Katie is too damn attractive when Laurel is all beat to hell.

Dinah's heart nearly leaps out of her chest when the door to her office is unceremoniously flung open.

It's barely half past nine in the morning, and she'd been pouring over a case review the commissioner personally requested her to conduct. The first fifteen minutes of rereading files she has gone over a dozen times already went by like molasses, but after that she got so dialed in that she became almost totally unaware of her environment. Normally she is hyper in tune with everything going on around her, which has come in handy since she got promoted into the Captain's chair and her office walls are conveniently made of glass. Her people joke all the time when they think she is out of range that she has owl ears, eagle eyes, an uncanny sense of perception coupled to an eerie ability to accurately interpret body language that lends them to believe she can literally read minds. The truth is that she has always had sharp instincts, but the hell that was Oliver's Team Arrow vigilante training regimen honed them to a fine razor's edge. Of course, Dinah has no inclination to ever inform her people that she is not actually telepathic, as them being frightened of her to a degree has certain advantages.

So to say that she rarely ever gets snuck up on like this would be a pretty gaudy understatement. And yet it happened. Which is why she explodes from her chair as if Vesuvius erupted from the leather surface beneath her ass.

When she discovers who so rudely barged in on her, her initial shock escalates into a stomach curling anxiety. Of all people, Laurel Lance struts into her office and then flops down into what she has claimed as _her chair._ Cocky Laurel grin fully in place, she then crosses her long legs and grasps the armrests as if she owns the damn place and that chair is not a chair but is in fact a throne from which she rules the SCPD – and Dinah in particular. Both bits are sadly close enough to true these days, what with Laurel making up excuses, some flimsy and some not, to drop by the station for a visit at unpredictable intervals and hours to hog her attention until she's said her peace or gotten bored.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Dinah asks, eyes roving frantically over the swath of appalling purple bruises angrily blooming along Laurel's left cheek and jaw and framing her outer eye socket – aka the reason for Dinah's barely restrained panic. In the back of her mind she wonders when Laurel being injured start to incite such acute concern. Like the asshole it is, the brutally honest part of her brain levels her with an answer she is vehemently unwilling to further examine at present.

"Good morning to you, too, sunshine," Laurel replies, winning smile looking quite painful considering her motley collection of hematomas and a gnarly split lip besides.

Another thought flits through Dinah's mind then, almost as terrifying as the truth her subconscious just attempted to foist upon her unprepared: that Laurel is strangely, incredibly, undeniably hot when she's all roughed up. Almost as hot as she is in the full Black Siren get-up, lithe frame wrapped in skin tight leather with those sinful lips painted black and a choker wrapped around her slender neck…

Dinah shudders involuntarily at the image the thought conjures of Laurel in all of her villainous glory. _Christ Almighty. Nope. Not gonna go there. Shut it down now!_ To rein in her rebellious reptile brain that knows what it wants and isn't a bit ashamed about wanting it, she funnels her frustration into righteous anger. That old, reliable glove still fits like a second skin.

"Cut the crap, Laurel. I asked you a question and I damn well expect an answer." To lend more credibility to her demand, she crosses her arms defensively beneath her breasts. Her vexatious subconscious has a tidbit of wisdom to share about her selection of posture as well, that subtly pushing the girls up to make them more prominent is a natural instinct designed to tantalize the potential mate to whom she is so painfully attracted that she would rather pull an ostrich than face up and fess up to reality. It takes all of Dinah's willpower to disregard that unsolicited nugget and focus in on getting answers as to how Laurel's pretty mug got so battered.

Meanwhile Laurel's eyes enlarge dramatically at Dinah's tone, her head tilting slight in that adorable way unique to her. "Okay...you might wanna take a chill pill there, High-strung Holly." Fair brows then furrow in confusion and annoyance alongside a brief pursing of her tasty looking lips. "However, if you must know, I ran into a couple knuckle sandwiches. No biggie. Happens to me all the time. I'm used to it. Besides, they'll be gone in a day or two. I know all the handy tricks to get rid of bruising."

On reflex Dinah reaches for the grip of her gun, forgetting all about the internal descriptors she subconsciously applied to Laurel. It wouldn't do her any favors to dwell on the fact she apparently finds Laurel's mannerisms _adorable_ and thinks her lips are _tasty looking_ when outrage drowns out any self-admonishment and embarrassment. And not only because someone physically assaulted Laurel, which she will not abide on multiple levels. It was the casual bombshell dropped that Laurel is accustomed to such treatment that hits Dinah square in the chest.

Dinah figured out a long time ago that the untouchable aura exuded by the woman sitting across from her is a smokescreen to distract people from looking close enough to spot all the damage being strategically concealed. As a cop, she's trained to notice the signs that point toward a history rife with trauma, and they are all there in spades with Laurel. The heinous company she's kept, the endless series of terrible decisions she's made, and the unspeakable violence she has perpetrated are all independent and cumulative indicators that Laurel has not known very much happiness in her life. Furthermore, one doesn't simply up and decide to adopt a malevolent persona like Black Siren without trauma _and_ abuse in their past having directly molded them into something monstrous. At least, not if the individual has a conscience to speak of, which Laurel most definitively does; her behavior towards Quentin alone was proof of concept.

Time and patience have only confirmed those assumptions for Dinah, and even afforded her the privilege of some confidential glimpses into Laurel's past that turn her stomach just thinking about them. So to hear Laurel treat memories of that abuse with such indifference is quite honestly enraging.

It's not surprising then that the fury burning through Dinah's veins spills out into her follow-up. "Getting a make-over via fist is no biggie? Well, it is to me. When did this happen? Where? Who did it? Was it because they figured out who you really are?"

Rather than respond immediately, Laurel reels backward in her chair, visibly startled as she warily eyes Dinah's hand now fiddling with the strap of her gun holster. "Wow. Overreact much? What happens if I tell you? You gonna go hunt them down and shoot them?"

A noise of pure aggravation rattles through Dinah's chest. "Laurel. I swear to God if you keep deflecting..."

Laurel surrenders by holding her hands up as if under arrest. "Alright, alright. _Sheesh_. Don't have a coronary over there." She then drops her hands only to the fold them in her lap, suddenly looking more nervous than she has around Dinah in a very long time. "It happened last night and was totally consensual." When Dinah's eyes bulge at the scandalous implication of that sentence which arises without proper context, Laurel splutters a bit before hastily correcting the misinterpretation. "No! Not like that. God. I like it rough but my line stops an inch or two before getting my face pummeled." If possible, Dinah's eyes widen even further in pure dismay, which causes Laurel's expression to shift into exasperation bordering on amusement. "Oh, for cryin' out loud. So puritanical. You really gotta loosen up, Captain. Blow off some steam. Vent some of that pent up frustration. Sort of like I do. That's how I got these nifty souvenirs." And then she gestures toward her face with a flourish.

Dinah frowns deeply as she resumes her previous posture, ignoring that last bit of innuendo that she totally cannot afford to analyze for more than five seconds without risking her peace of mind. So she elects her default coping mechanism, going on the offensive.

"You've been picking fights in your downtime? Knowing you're gonna have to go on TV sporting the consequences? That's reckless, Laurel. Even for you."

"Have I been fighting? Yes. Picking them, not exactly."

A huff proceeds narrowed eyes pinning Laurel down. "Explain." Of course since nothing is easy with Laurel Lance, she does not receives a prompt response. "Now, Laurel!"

To Dinah's surprise, Laurel does not throw a fit or run away or return fire or even make a sassy retort aside from rolling her eyes. It's measurable progress in their dynamic, which seems to be shifting at rate that is both distressing and exhilarating.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of bitchy this morning. Fine. The short version is that since I've gone on the straight and narrow, I need a socially acceptable outlet for my aggressively competitive personality, which unfortunately tends to manifest in violence."

"You? Violent? Nah. I don't believe it for a second." That earns Dinah another melodramatic eye roll.

"Funny. Anyway, about six weeks ago, the itch was getting so bad I knew I had to do something to sate that urge or I was going to blow a gasket and land myself in hot water. I couldn't go to Ollie for obvious reasons, so I started shopping around for a dojo and a week later found this awesome place run by a lady about our age named Sandra Wu-San. She even lives there in an apartment above the business space. I joined up and have been attending regularly to decompress. Being D.A. is a stressful job, you know, so I have a lot of excess negative energy to burn through."

Before Laurel can launch into the next phase of her tale, Dinah's inner asshole decides to make an appearance. She unhooks one of her arms and raises it as if an inquisitive student.

"Excuse me a sec. I thought this was supposed to be the short version."

Laurel just smiles indulgently. "Hold your horses, sweetheart. I'm getting around to the good part. So...I'm really digging this dojo, which is why I decided to drop by Sandra's and arrange some private one-on-one time. She's the only one there who can keep up with me." A cute little pout forms that Dinah tries her best to not go goo-goo over like she has been far too often of late. "All of those cocksure men and not one can get little old me on the mat. Such a disappointment. But beggars can't be choosers." As if by magic trick, the pout disappears with a wave of her hand and Laurel is back to being animated and engaged. "Anyway, I figured some privacy might encourage Sandra to really let loose so I could do the same. But when I got to the dojo the windows were all blacked out, and since I could still see flickers of light escaping above and below, I did what any decent human being would: I investigated."

Again, Dinah's inner asshole co-opts her tongue before her prefrontal cortex can get involved. "You really are such a responsible citizen, aren't you? I ought to nominate you for an award. Do we have an award for that? 'Cause we should just so you can have something to hang on the wall in your office that actually belongs to you and not the woman whose life you've assumed."

Laurel's deadpan expression of mounting irritation is almost comical. "Dammit, woman! If you don't stop interrupting me, I'll never get through this."

"Point taken. But don't call me _woman_ or _sweetheart_ again. I'll take you out back and teach you some manners."

The threat is not totally empty. There are still times she wants to deck Laurel for an insensitive or rude or plain cruel comment made to cover up one of her many insecurities. The only reason she doesn't is because she refuses to be baited into a knee-jerk reaction by a woman who specializes in gleefully provoking them.

That, and she is much more cognizant now of where those insecurities originate. Half the time Laurel says and does insensitive shit secretly hoping someone will lash out at her in retaliation. Only it isn't so secret to Dinah since she figured out a big piece of what makes Laurel Lance tick. Through careful observation of Laurel's actions and paying close attention during conversations they have held in the wake of their detente, she has come to believe that Laurel is conditioned to being ritually abused by people who have social, political, emotional or physical power over her. So deep does that conditioning run that she probably misses the pain, yearns for it like a lost lover or even craves it like a drug. Laurel has all but admitted to such a couple times, has even shared some tidbits that suggest Diaz was not the first, but merely the latest in a long line of deviant bastards who took sick pleasure beating her senseless, terrorizing her, manipulating her, wielding her like a brainless weapon, using her as a disposable fuck toy, or all of the above.

And that...that just makes Dinah want to crawl up into a ball and cry. Or scream until her throat is raw. Because however much she suffered at Laurel's hand, and by the world's in general, she has never been subjected to the sort of abuse Laurel has hinted around the fringes at having endured. Honestly, the more she learns about Laurel's history the more she doesn't want to uncover any more for fear of being mentally scarred. It sickens her enough as is to think of so much awful shit happening to the remarkably talented and infinitely entertaining woman she is starting to see come alive again now that she is free to chose her own path.

The Laurel that could have been had life not curb-stomped her at every opportunity has slowly and bravely begun to step out into the sun for the first time in probably more than a decade. And while this Laurel's engine may run on sarcasm and she may have a hair trigger temper, she also has a streak of loyalty and compassion that she is more than willing to lavish upon those who manage to jackhammer a jagged path through her impressive exterior defenses. This Laurel is special, someone Dinah is glad to have in her life beyond their mutually beneficial working relationship because she genuinely enjoys being around her.

This Laurel is also so very fragile that Dinah instinctively wants to protect her, and that impulse has grown to the point she is willing to risk the condemnation of friends to pursue their strange relationship. The fingers of one hand could represent the number of people who have inhabited that rarified status in Dinah's heart with some spare left over, and that pretty much tells the tale of how much she cares about Laurel and wants to see her thrive.

That said, Dinah does look back fondly on her limited exposure to combat with Laurel and wouldn't mind the chance to get the accomplished martial artist back on the mats in a more friendly setting. And it appears Laurel agrees by the way she perks up as if having been gifted one of Willy Wonka's golden tickets.

" _Ooo_. Don't promise a girl a good time like that if you're not serious about following through."

"Oh, I'm dead serious," Dinah says, feeling a bit more playful herself. "I'll kick your ass any day of the week, _sweetheart_." She adds a challenging wink at the end just for her own satisfaction.

"You know what? I will take you up on that any day and hour of your choosing," Laurel replies, those irresistible dimples of hers peaking out as they stare at one another, caught up in _whatever_ is happening between them. The crackling undercurrent of indefinable energy lasts until Laurel visibly grows uncomfortable. After clearing her throat, a pretty blush darkens her cheeks as she goes on, "But let's get back to the topic at hand, shall we? As I was saying, I investigated what was going on and lo and behold, stumbled upon a fight club operating out of the dojo. Naturally I did what any sensible person like me would."

Smirking, Dinah leans over her desk. "I would say you called the cops and had them bust it up like _any decent human being would_ but I am the cops and no such report has been called in. Knowing you, I'm guessing you thought that would be a perfect opportunity to – what was it you said I should do? ' _Blow off some steam?_ '"

"Why, Dinah Drake, I am so flattered! You really _do_ know me. And yes, you're correct. I had the perfect leverage to strong arm my way in, it would have been criminally negligent of me to waste it. Sandra knows what my day job is, so I used that to get what I wanted. Told her I'd have her arrested if she didn't let me in on the action. Can you guess the ending of the story now?"

Dinah groans. Of course Laurel blackmailed the dojo owner to let her participate in unsanctioned and stupidly dangerous fights.

"Don't have to. The fact that your face is more colorful than Joseph's coat tells me all I need to know."

"Gosh, you say the sweetest things. Thank you so very much, Dinahmite!"

Dinah groans at the irritating nickname Laurel has started calling her. _Dammit, Felicity. You just had to go and label...whatever this dynamic is between me and her. And then use it around her knowing full well she would never let it go. I mean, c'mon, man!_

"It wasn't a compliment," she says after making herself a promise to plot revenge against Felicity for giving Laurel that ammunition to fire in her direction.

Laurel grins, this time deliberately flashing those gorgeous dimples that turn Dinah's insides to mush. In a single stuttered heartbeat, her annoyance is all but forgotten.

"And yet I'm taking it as one," Laurel replies. "Also, I haven't forgotten about you throwing down the gauntlet a second ago. I officially accept, by the way. Name the time and place. Your rules. I'll be there with bells on, baby."

The endearment, even if used innocuously, sends frissons of excitement cascading down Dinah's spine which then mutates into delicious warmth that floods simultaneously southward into her belly and northward into her chest. That voice in the back of her head she was so stubbornly avoiding earlier is suddenly not so unwelcome as it announces she would very much enjoy having Laurel call her that all the time. Rather than give it any more validation than she already has, she decides a change of subject is in order.

"Duly noted. So..." Dinah takes the opportunity to return to her incredibly comfy chair. "Was there a reason you dropped by other than to confess your illegal activities to an SCPD Captain?"

Brow arched and eyes narrowed, Laurel shrewdly peruses Dinah's face, searching for something that she does not seem to find – or if she does she has the kindness to spare Dinah having her recently surfaced and acutely alarming secret crush exposed. She then shrugs and relaxes back into her chair.

"I did, actually. This morning I got a call from a friend in the Mayor's office. Apparently our esteemed leader has expressed some concerns you may find interesting."

And then Laurel launches into an explanation of the Mayor's wish to strong-arm the SCPD brass into conducting policy reviews due to low arrest rates and the flagging influx of fines and seizures with which to fund bloated, ineffectual government policing programs. There has been a fortuitous lull in nefarious activity within Star City of late, and evidently the Mayor – while ecstatic that her approval rate is rising – is nonetheless displeased with the SCPD for failing to meet quotas in several areas that fall under their purview.

Laurel's friend, a really nice guy named Jason, had wanted to warn her because he knew she had a vested interest in the Police Department. Dinah tries not to allow the fact that Jason is absurdly attractive and clearly interested in Laurel factor in to her response. Jealousy has never looked that good on her and it would feel even more ugly since she was responsible for introducing them. Also, she has zero right to a claim on Laurel's attention, even if she wishes otherwise right now. And that brings up another slew of issues that she would prefer to avoid for as long as humanly possible.

For the next half hour, Dinah is careful to keep their discussion of the potential consequences of the Mayor's irresponsible meddling firmly on track. For the same reason as Laurel's friend based his warning on, it comes as no great surprise that they are in agreement on opposing any such measures. Laurel may have her qualms about the police, but if nothing else she respects what they are asked to do on a daily basis because she lived with it for half of her life. Honoring the badge is honoring any version of Quentin Lance, so that is what she does to the best of her ability. And she's done an admirable job of it. Dinah has no complaints to register about Laurel's frequent interactions with the SCPD as Star City's District Attorney. If anything, she believes the Department has never enjoyed a better working relationship with the D.A.'s office, and that remarkable improvement can be almost solely attributed to Laurel, who has made every effort to grease the cogs of cooperation between their respective offices.

Beyond Quentin's legacy, Dinah also gets the strangely pleasant feeling that Laurel is also concerned on her behalf. Sure, they have become friends of a sort, but not like Laurel has with Felicity. Those two are thick as thieves, which poses a danger to the general welfare of mankind Dinah is as painfully aware of as Oliver and John. As far as her own relationship with Laurel is concerned, she'd thought they arrived at a nice equilibrium where they could stand being around each other without threat of bloodshed looming over their every tense glance or heated verbal exchange. For the few months, however, that equilibrium has been upset, as has the normal balance of Laurel's friendship with Felicity.

Ever since an incident down at the docks where Dinah was almost atomized by a cargo container lined with active fertilizer bombs, Laurel has been paying her way more attention than she feels some fairly major cuts and deep bruises along with a few minor burns warranted. At first she chalked it up to friendly concern over her brush with death, but when weeks passed by and Laurel was still finding vague official reasons to drop by Dinah's office or making up lame excuses to visit her at home she realized something else was afoot. Something both weird and wonderful.

As confused as Dinah is about this development, and uncomfortable as it has been to come to terms with, she has grown fond of Laurel's almost constant presence in her life. Her office seems so much less stuffy and her house all the more homely with Laurel around to infuse them with risque jokes, endearing sass, and an eerie ability to make her feel better when depression or bitterness resurface to threaten derailment of the progress she has made both professionally and personally in the wake of ending their feud. That alone should have set off warning bells in Dinah's mind. And yet there is only contented silence. Whether she is ready to admit to it or not, it is obvious that she needs to be close to Laurel every bit as much as Laurel needs to be close to her. And frankly she has has no fucking clue what to do about that colossal revelation.

Naturally, not everyone is as accepting about what's happening between her and Laurel as she is. Oliver has steered a few unsubtle warnings her way about getting entangled with the Laurel that will never measure up to the one he has deified in his mind. John has been every bit as tactful in expressing his doubts as to what intentions are driving Laurel where she is concerned. Dinah doesn't pay much heed to their objections because to those two Laurel will always be at best a poor imitation of the real thing – which isn't fair to any of them, not that those two mulish grudge-holders will ever admit that without a dramatic intervention. Rene and Curtis have been the worst about riding her over how increasingly chummy she's been with the reformed Black Siren. That same old song is one she has no interest in hearing any more of her former fellow members of the Outsiders. So to get them off her ass, she either sidesteps or denies or ignores Curtis's amiable needling and Rene's blatant disapproval until they step off their anti-Laurel soap boxes. Honestly, Felicity has been the only Team Arrow member to openly express support for whatever the hell is happening between Dinah and Laurel. And that isn't necessarily a good thing considering Felicity already has decided they would be, quote, _'Literally the most gorgeous couple ever!_ '

Dinah can't say she disagrees. Which is only number one hundred and fifty-four on her list of things she shouldn't feel about Laurel Lance but does.

Eventually, their conversation comes to an end when Laurel glances down at her watch. "Well, as much fun as this visit has been, I need to skedaddle or I'll attract unwanted attention. Being D.A. has it's perks, but never let it be said I was one to shirk my responsibilities." She then abruptly stands, brushes down her pencil skirt and gives Dinah a slightly anxious smile. "My secret is safe, right? I mean, you're not gonna..."

Dinah cuts her short as she pushes back her chair to also stand. "Tattle on the District Attorney for attending a highly illegal and incredibly dangerous fight club? Nah. Think I'll cut you some slack this once. Although the thought of lording it over you a while is mighty tempting."

Laurel's eyes twinkle merrily, as if a thousand stars are glittering within their emerald depths. "Blackmail? My, my, Captain Drake. I do believe I'm a bad influence on you."

"Not gonna get an argument from me. You don't have to look so proud about it, either."

"But how can I not be? They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Plus, you're keeping my secret, so now I have admissible evidence that you like me."

Eyes narrowing into slits, Dinah leans forward, arms extended down to prop her up, hands splayed out on her desk. "I won't for much longer if you keep pushing your luck."

"And there's my confirmation," Laurel says, not intimidated in the slightest. She even has the audacity to add an impish, "Thanks, _Dinahmite_."

A growl of annoyance that lacks any genuine bite precedes Dinah straightening up and pointing authoritatively toward the door. "Get out of here now, Lance, before I decide to toss you out on your skinny caboose."

Although Laurel holds her hands up in surrender, she remains in a buoyant mood. "Alright, alright. No need to get violent...yet. There'll be plenty of time for that later." Dimples back at full wattage, she gifts Dinah with a saucy wink that leaves no doubt as to the flirtatious intent that inspired it. "Guess I'll see you around, Captain."

"Guess you will, Counselor," Dinah replies, smiling just as brightly until Laurel at last gives her a cute little wave goodbye and then turns for the door. The smile slips then as the uncertainty of their next encounter infuses a chilly burst into the bubble of warmth that had formed around her office. This has been happening more and more of late, this reluctance to watch Laurel leave not knowing when next she would see her again. If she gave any thought to it, she would realize the same phenomenon has happened to her before – most recently when she reconciled with Vince after finding out he was the Vigilante. But she doesn't give it any thought because doing that would mean confronting head on what she already knows is happening within the essential core of her heart. So she just stands there gawping, unwilling and unable to process her turbulent emotions.

Laurel is halfway out when Dinah breaks free of the paralysis seizing her vocal chords and muddying her willpower. A certain challenge Laurel had accepted pops into her mind unbidden, and she instantly recognizes the opportunity it present.

Just before Laurel disappears around the corner, she desperately blurts out her name. And when that call is answered by Laurel pausing and then returning to the doorway, Dinah hastily adds, "Tonight. At the training center." _The training center_ is code for Team Arrow's new headquarters, the location of which Laurel was made aware by Felicity in the wake of Dinah's near miss. "Nine sharp. It's Oliver's night to patrol, so he'll be out of there early, and the rest of the crew won't be active since there's nothing going on right now. So...we should have the place to ourselves."

For a second, Laurel stares at Dinah as if she's spoken in Hungarian. But then that expression melts into one containing a plethora of emotions most of which cannot possibly be interpreted. Dinah does recognize one, though: hope.

"Why, if I didn't know any better, I would say that sounds like a date," Laurel says, her tone caught somewhere between her typical cockiness and a vulnerability that is seldom allowed to surface.

"You have an unusual definition of a date," Dinah replies for lack of a better response. Thankfully Laurel takes her ineloquence in stride.

"Well, I'm an unusual gal. Good thing you like that about me. Amongst other things."

Dinah does not get to respond, though she couldn't have if she wanted to seeing as she is temporarily ensnared by the heat that flares to life in Laurel's gaze. Several lazy seconds meander by with their eyes locked as if by some force that bends space and time and reduces their entire existence down to seven feet of space and the undeniable chemistry at work between them. The moment is only broken when a cop passing by accidentally brushes into Laurel's shoulder, snapping her out of the trance, which in turn liberates Dinah.

After readjusting her clothes like she is rechecking armor for dents or breaches, Laurel clears her throat and says, "Though I'd love to stand here appreciating the beautiful view, I have a mountain of paperwork to slog through. _Ciao bella_. See you tonight." And then she is gone, all proud posture and confident stride and effortless sex appeal, carving a blistering path through a bullpen chock full of beat cops and detectives that all stare in awe of her as she passes, like she is a mythical being of untold power whose mere aura is capable of ensnaring the most willful, disciplined soul. Dinah would not have been surprised if a few of them knelt before Laurel in worshipful reverence as she strode by them – judging by their expressions they certainly wanted to. Not that she can blame them.

"Yeah. Me too guys. Me too," Dinah mutters to her now dreadfully empty office. Despite Laurel's larger than life presence having fled the vicinity, her heart remains wonderfully aflutter. She feels like a teenager again who just got asked to prom by the most popular kid in school and is so dumbfounded yet ecstatic that she hardly knows what to do with herself.

 _Laurel Lance just flirted with me and I was totally into it._ And that is how Dinah knows she is in so much fucking trouble.


	4. How to Tame a Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurel is having a hard time keeping the monster inside in check. Lucky for her she has a personal Siren Whisperer.

"Fuck!"

Bursting up from the sofa, Laurel heaves the notepad in her hand clear across the apartment, shouting into the effort with almost enough force to trigger her sonic ability. For what must be the fifteenth time this evening, she had read through an amended opening statement for the trial due to start tomorrow morning only to find it yet again utterly inadequate. Which in turn made her feel inadequate. Which then made her angry.

This trial is by far the most critical of her career. It is make or break stuff, really, of the sort that could catapult her from a zealous state D.A. into the realm of public political stardom. The potential to extend her sphere of influence into the elusive halls of power is too tempting to resist when Mayors, State Reps, and Governors – hell, even a few prominent US Senators – were made from emerging victorious in similarly high profile spectacles. Being District Attorney of a metropolitan area has certainly afforded her a tantalizing sample of what real power tastes like, and she has wantonly indulged herself in the heady flavor, but there is no sense in denying she wants more. The limited prestige of local prominence is not enough. Her desire to join the exclusive ranks of the political elite only intensifies the closer she gets to breaking through the threshold of a ceiling that appears increasingly less impenetrable. Just because she has mostly bottled up her dark side does not mean she has ceded her ambitions. First meta-human President sure does have a nice ring to it, after all.

Since giving up the unrivaled adrenaline rush of hunting down enemies then mercilessly disposing of them, Laurel has needed to focus those chaotic energies into more productive outlets. Joining Oliver's gang of mostly insufferable do-gooders proved an ineffective option, as such selfless service could never satisfy her ferocious, ultra-competitive drive. Oh, she tried suiting up for a while as a means to sate her frequent urges to commit violence, but found it to be at best a stop-gap solution. Fighting did help, and still does, to mollify the malefic creature crawling beneath her skin everyone so _lovingly_ refers to as Black Siren, just not enough.

Sadly prowling the shadowy streets of Star City and pummeling members of the criminal element she once would have casually commiserated with had one glaring flaw: every night when her patrol was done she had to go home and try to stuff Siren back into the little square box labeled: DANGER MONSTER INSIDE, DO NOT OPEN. On a good day of pretending to be someone she isn't, that box barely survives the inexhaustible fury of the prisoner it was specifically constructed to contain.

The only alternative to giving in to the insidious temptation to become Black Siren again was to supplement the lackluster approach of vigilantism by funneling some of that excess energy into her day job. So that's what she has done, having adopted a method of practicing law that mirrors her no-holds-barred approach to fighting. Ruthless, aggressive, largely merciless, occasionally reckless, always a sharpened blade in hand ready to be metaphorically driven home. These were some of the descriptive words and phrases she has heard attributed to her tenure as District Attorney, meant as criticism by her opponents and praise by her supporters. Whether offered as complimentary or disparaging, she embraces them all wholeheartedly. Ultimately she is who she is and forever shall be, only now she focuses on being an edgy, remorseless, vindictive, judgmental, angry person in the courtroom so she can just be Laurel at home.

That said, she would be lying to insist she never wishes to return to the simplicity of Siren's outlook on life. Being a good guy is hella complicated and terribly stressful. There is an undeniable advantage to not giving two shits about anyone other than herself. Doing the right thing is so often thankless and contradictory to her temperament that she suffers from far more anxiety than she ever did causing mayhem whilst arrayed in the signature black leather and fishnets. Some mornings she finds it hard to force herself out the front door of the apartment for the gigantic knot of caustic dread that has taken up residence in her belly. But she has yet to let that irrational angst defeat her, in no small part thanks to the stubbornness that makes her a survivor. That, and there is one very special person for whom she would do almost anything who does not allow her to surrender to her worst characteristics or her very real fears.

On nights like tonight, though, when she is frustrated beyond all reckoning and has been bullied to the bleeding edge of her tolerance with the expectation placed upon her to do things the ' _right way,_ ' preventing a full blown Siren-apocalypse tests the limits of her carefully developed self-control. And when she is arguing with herself internally like she is right now? Yeah, that doesn't help at all. Doesn't bode well for her sanity, either.

 _What the hell are you doing, you deluded moron?_ The villainous part of Laurel's psyche is being so excessively obnoxious tonight that she is unable to ignore it. _You're no Clarence Darrow. Hell, Gomez Addams is more qualified than you are for this shit. You know what that means, don't you? It means you're gonna fuck this up just like you do everything else. It means you're gonna make a fool of yourself in front of some of the most powerful people in the entire country in addition to those sappy morons you've started hanging out with. It also means a killer is gonna walk free. Good thing it would be oh-so-easy to make sure that never happens! Betcha a crisp Nixon or whoever the hell is on a hundred here it wouldn't be hard to intercept prisoner transpo and take care of that problem. Permanently._

"No! I can't. I _won't_..." Shaking her head frantically, Laurel is as much frustration over her internal dialogue with an imaginary version of her worst self as she is over responding audibly to the obvious goading. Agitated past the point of reason, she begins to pace the area in front of the sofa like a captive tiger whose juicy meal was left just out of reach of her chains. To ward off a total meltdown, she slips into the tried and true method she was taught to master the monster within.

" _First,_ " Ollie had told her taking up a very convincing zen pose, " _close your eyes and envision a harbor of peace, somewhere you are totally safe. Somewhere you feel secure enough to allow yourself to be vulnerable. A place that you can be your true self, absent of all baggage weighing you down and as in touch with your former innocence as is possible. See it? Good. Now go there. Immerse yourself in your surroundings. Let the familiarity and serenity and warmth seep into your bones and wash away the fear and rage._ "

That part was always easy enough for Laurel. When she first started training in Oliver's regimen, she used to envision her house on Earth-2 back before her mother miscarried after an accident and her parents started fighting all the time, then divorced a couple years later, and soon after her father crawled head first into the bottle. Back then, she was exactly like every other happy little girl in America. Mommy's angel and Daddy's pride and joy, she was celebrated for her advanced intellect and a gift for language that manifested early alongside a clear affinity for mediation and a prodigious grasp for very vague concepts of justice. She can remember her Mom and Dad playfully arguing about whose footsteps she would follow in. Was she going to become a career academic like her Mom? Or a cop like her Dad? They never could agree. In the end, Laurel landed somewhere between all on her own, not that it mattered when her idyllic life came to a screeching halt not long after her eighth birthday. But the memory of that former happiness was enough to center her in the midst of the storm of unfettered darkness that was Black Siren.

Like Ollie, however, she has since moved on from that initial visualization. Her refuge is no longer a place but a person.

_Dinah._

Just the thought of that name creates a puddle of warmth low in Laurel's belly that swirls wonderfully northward. Once reaching her chest, it then spreads into her arms and fingers, which begin to tingle with anticipation that will have to wait til later for fulfillment.

Her eyes slide shut involuntarily as she imagines Dinah in all of her glory – olive skin that is every bit as soft as it looks, thick curly brown hair she envies as much as she loves, entrancing green eyes that reveal the mysteries of the universe to an infinitely curious mind, and sinfully lush lips turned up in a smile only she gets to see. A distinctive smell washes over her as the very human vision of her haven coalesces within the mist of her memory, cherries and the subtle hint of Tom Ford _Jasmin Rouge_ , and it is accompanied by the feel of warm fingers and palms sliding against and caressing the bare flesh of her arms, shoulders, sides, hips, and along the small of her back. Shivering at the ghost of a touch for which she has acquired an insatiable addiction, she also hears a slightly husky yet alluring feminine voice whose dulcet tones are capable of penetrating any resistance constructed by a heart that has been abused so many times there is no reckoning the wounds. That voice – Dinah's unmistakable voice – is telling her to be strong, is encouraging her with reminders of all the good she's done since rejoining the wider world, and comforts her with assurances that she is loved and always will be.

Like the arrival of a gentle morning tide, Laurel feels calm wash over her and her monstrous side recedes a step into the darkness.

" _Next,_ " Oliver would say, " _concentrate on regulating your breathing and then focus on bringing your heart rate down. Elevated BP and oxygen supply to the brain only fuels the runaway chain chemical reaction going on. Control is what we are after, so strive for it with single-minded tenacity._ "

Again, easy enough, though primarily thanks to her gorgeous, heroic, compassionate, unshakable anchor – the woman in whom she has learned to trust and for whom she would take on the whole world. Taking slow, deep breaths, Laurel hones in on the sound of her heartbeat and then compares it with the memory of the one steadily beating beneath her ear most nights. That gentle thrumming cadence, so reliable and soothing, is a unique pacifier that has proved a startlingly effective cure to chronic insomnia.

Funny, she never believed books and movies that made romance out into some mythical cure to all the ailments of the human condition. She still doesn't about a lot of it. Not only do her psychological scars preclude her from such vapid sentimentality, experience has taught her that love can often be every bit as destructive as it is some wholesome force with only benevolent intentions and outcomes. There was a time in the not-so-distant past in which love inspired her to commit atrocities she will never atone for or forget, acts of such unfathomable depravity they eat away at her restored conscience to the point she has started wrenching awake from the throes of a vivid nightmare recounting on of them. And in the present, love has yet to cure her infrequent depressive fits any more than it has rid her of the endlessly reoccurring compulsion to murder the terminally moronic legal-lackeys who annoy her on a daily basis. But! She has discovered, to her immense delight, that popular media was right about one thing. It really is so much easier to fall asleep ensconced in the strong arms of the one person she loves more than anything or anyone else while listening to said person's heartbeat.

Unbidden yet beyond her capacity to resist, Laurel's lips quirk up into an amused smile. Felicity was so insufferable when Laurel admitted to Dinah turning her into a cuddle bug because a girl's night ended up with her having too liberally imbibed the delicious spirits served at their favorite ' _friend date_ ' haunt. A few other tidbits about herself also slipped free that night. One of them was of a particularly intimate nature and involved a graphic description of her all time favorite taste and smell, which got her into so much fucking trouble less than a week later because Felicity is literally incapable of keeping a secret, especially when in company with one Curtis Holt who has flipped his gossip switch on.

Lord have mercy! But isn't Dinah a splendorous vision when she's royally pissed off.

" _Having restored a sense of equilibrium,_ " Oliver would instruct once the first two phases were complete, " _carefully corral the monster inside into a place from which it can't escape. There is no other option than compartmentalizing. Believe me, I've tried everything else. Embracing the monster only gives it validation and power over you that you will find nearly impossible to regain. Ignoring it will only feed it's rage. And trying to lock it away forever will only make it all the more vicious and bloodthirsty when it inevitably escapes imprisonment. No, the only way to deal with what people like you and I have to deal with is to control it fanatically. That means intensively training to unleash it with purpose instead of reckless abandon, very much like a weapon, and at all other times strictly segregating it. So put it in a box or toss it in a cage or seal it away in a cell, never lose track of the key, and then keep a close watch on it until the next moment arrives when you need it again._

This is the hardest part. Not because Siren doesn't go into her cage like she's been conditioned to, but because Laurel always feels bad about banishing that part of her into such desolate isolation. Without it, she probably would not have survived the repeated traumas she endured without going batshit insane.

Being Black Siren was not always the study in mustache-twirling villainy as it was when she relocated to this Earth. At first, she was on a crusade to secure righteous retribution for her father and Ollie and all the broken, hapless, vulnerable prey like her who succumbed to one or many of the soulless sharks circling the chummed waters in the wake of a personal tragedy. If only she knew what she does now, that revenge never goes as planned, is never as satisfying as one hopes it will be, and ultimately leads one down a rabbit hole of infinite darkness.

When killing Brett Collins – the drunken bastard responsible for her father's death – didn't quench the hatred that had taken root in her heart, she started hitting the streets on a regular basis. Before long, and with the help of an assassin named Sandra who took an unusual interest in her, she was learning how to fight with more than just her meta ability. Encounters with targets got progressively more out of control until she was not only either putting them in the hospital or the morgue, but she lost her ability to differentiate between just punishment and violence for the sake of personal pleasure. By the time Zoom coerced her into his cohort of meta-terrorists, there wasn't much left of the Laurel who was once the biggest daddies girl to ever live and who would have gladly endured a thousand scourgings or literally ran through fire for her beloved Ollie.

If only she could go back in time and tell her younger self how futile that path was, how empty and deprived of meaning her life became, she could have been spared so much unnecessary pain and so many avoidable stains on her conscience. Sadly, time on goes in one direction unless one is conscripted by an intergalactic agency with honest-to-God H.G. Wells time machines. Sara would not look kindly upon theft of _The_ _Waverider_ , even it was for a very good cause by her sister's doppelganger. Nor is Laurel is inclined to undertake such an endeavor. She has many regrets, far more than she can process at any one time, but the desolate highway of anguish she trod to get to where she is also made her who she is. And while she is not always at peace with the countless sins she has committed and never will be, she is unwilling to give up what she so serendipitously stumbled upon here in the Star City of Earth-1. With Dinah Drake of all people.

Three years ago, she would have laughed until her stomach hurt if someone would have suggested she would refuse to trade the sanctimonious bitch extraordinaire she first met on Lian Yu even if tempted with the opportunity to get either her father or her Ollie back – or both. And yet here she is, confidently acknowledging she would do just that without so much as a twinge of self-recrimination or guilt.

Dinah is, without question, the best thing that has ever happened to her, and there is nothing she won't do to keep from fucking up what they have. She can't say that about anyone else. For Quentin, Laurel had let her true self peek through the curtain of protection over her heart that was Black Siren, was even willing to let that self share the spotlight with her villainous alter ego. But for Dinah, she learned how to put Siren in a gigantic, cold, black box only to ever let her out when she's useful. There are no words to describe how huge a deal taking that leap was for Laurel. No one really would or could understand it except for Dinah and Oliver, both of whom appreciate her sacrifice to varying to degrees.

Oliver has a monster of his own to contend with and, since he agreed to train her how to deal with hers, no longer looks at her with that judgmental loathing and disappointment that once tainted their every interaction. Hell, he has even come to respect her for what she can offer beyond her rival combat skills and vague similarities to the Laurel he lost because he knows her daily struggles better than anyone else. They have developed a tentative friendship that neither are in a rush to experiment with for fear of triggering the other's traumatic memories of lost loved ones that wear their faces. To them, this amiable detente is working wonderfully, therefore it is perfectly sufficient.

Dinah, though...well, Dinah was the first member of the Team Arrow clique to care for the Laurel that is without any ulterior motives underscoring her overtures. It Dinah's unexpected and numerous offerings of support or encouragement that kept Laurel from making some mistakes that might well have re-immersed her in the ocean of hate, bitterness, and rage that was Black Siren. Dinah also had experience with taking out her pain on those who perpetrated it, has spilled blood and killed with her abilities in the pursuit of revenge. One of the people who hurt Dinah the worst was, in fact, Laurel, and that she was able to forgive Laurel for Vinny even a little bit spoke to the absolute strength of her character. A lot of vigilantes squawk about being heroes and set about proving how awesome they are with their fists or guns or knives or bows and arrows. Dinah proved she was a hero by showing compassion to the person for which she had the least reason to do so. To a practiced pessimist like Laurel, that alone made Dinah worth trusting, worth embracing, worth appreciating...worth loving. So when to her shock and inconceivable joy Dinah admitted to returning her seemingly hopeless affections, there was no way in hell she was gonna miss the chance to seize an opportunity she knew instinctively would develop into a once in a lifetime love. And it has been exactly that.

Objectively speaking, Laurel is fully aware she has no right to be as happy as she is. Thing about is she is too happy to care. So what if some of Dinah's friends on Team Arrow still don't trust her. So what if public opinion of their relationship is not always rosy. So what if their problematic history rears its ugly head and they fight like dogs and cats every now and then. So what if the whole fucking world disapproves of what they have. So long as Dinah is healthy and happy, anyone who has a negative opinion about their relationship can take a really short walk off a very tall bridge. Including Siren, who bitches and moans at every opportunity about how soft and pathetic she's become, like she is right now at this very moment. Sometimes Laurel is tempted to consult with Caity Snow about how best to address unwelcome snark from an alter ego. Or a therapist to deal with what might be a serious psychological disorder...

 _Tough shit, you salty bitch. Time to go back in the hole,_ Laurel tells Siren as she mentally escorts her darker self, bound hand and foot, to the ebony container she erected in her mind.

Once the beast is safely back in her inescapable box, Laurel returns to the task at hand. This opening statement has to be perfect and by God it will be. She promised a little girl named Susie that the man who took her Mommy and Daddy away would never hurt anyone else ever again. That's a promise she has no intention of breaking. And if successfully prosecuting this case propels her to a notoriety she can advantageously employ to further her career? All the better.

 _So I'm Meredith Brooks_ _with a functional brain and better hair. Go ahead and sue me._ She chuckles under her breath at her own joke.

Determination renewed, Laurel fetches the discarded notepad and deposits herself back on the sofa with renewed purpose. She has an important promise to keep and lofty future prospects to secure. That in mind, she sets about achieving both with a determination that matches the gleam in her eye.

"By the time I'm through, that jury will be eating out of the palm of my hand," she comments to the empty apartment, then begins to read once more.

* * *

With a sigh of relief, Dinah pushes her key into the lock of her apartment door. _God, it's good to be home._

All day long she's been a gigantic ball of stress. Three active, high profile cases have taken up permanent residence on her desk, demanding her attention which is already spread thin. Not only is she having to keep a close eye on the progress being made by six detectives and the entire forensics team, but she is also juggling quarterly performance evaluations on top of the Mayor's request-that-wasn't-a-request to conduct a thorough review of department spending in an effort to streamline the budget. All of that on top of her second job, unpaid by the way, patrolling the streets of Star City as the Black Canary means Dinah is way past due for some down time. Thankfully the end of her current circus act is in sight. An arrest was made today in one of the cases and she signed off on the last of the evaluations. Another two days and the budgetary review will be completed. Once that's done, she intends to take an entire week of vacation and God help anyone who dares to stand in her way.

The only problem with that plan is a certain blonde who has been perhaps the largest drain on Dinah's emotional and psychological reserves. Laurel is under even more pressure than she is, as impossible it seems, and has been working herself stupid since landing the case of the Governor's slain son and daughter-in-law. Dinah can't remember the last time she arrived to what would ordinarily be a relaxing evening at home with her partner of eighteen months.

Normally Laurel would be flitting about the kitchen while doing her best to cook an edible dinner, her golden hair twirled up into a messy bun, dressed in comfy attire like leggings and a loose, off the shoulder sweater or a raggedy old tee. That, or she would be sprawled out on the couch watching MMA or whatever live boxing match might be on, take-out waiting for them both on the dining table. Strangely enough, while Laurel was deadly serious about her job, she is not the type to bring work home with her. This case ended that preferable trend. It has consumed her to a frightening degree. Even when she's at home, her nose is in a law book or she's pouring through case files to find avenues through which to attack the insufferably smug in his wealth and privilege scumbag who – while clearly deranged and guilty as hell – has the best team of defenders dirty money can buy.

To be honest, Dinah is torn between feeling intense pride in Laurel's obsession for justice and a very real concern that said obsession might precipitate a backslide into dangerous habits that don't lead anywhere good. While she has long since forgiven Laurel for what went down with Vince, has even fallen so far beyond head over heels in love with her, a malicious specter lingers upon the horizon. Black Siren, while distant, is forever a threat to the mostly normal and incredibly happy life they have built together. Dinah knows all too well that for people like her and Laurel who have binged upon the sickly sweet delicacies offered by the worst aspects of human nature, succumbing to those old addictions is ever a single taste away.

For the past two weeks she's lain awake in their bed at night until exhaustion finally pulled her under the cresting waves of slumber, unable to fall asleep swiftly as she usually does due to slightly irrational fretting over Laurel's deteriorating mental state. Staring endlessly at Laurel's face, relaxed in repose but still troubled by demons that haunt her dreams, does nothing to quell the creeping panic that seems intent on digging further beneath Dinah's skin with every minute doubt or fear. Never has she been so invested in another person. Not even Vince. And that, more than anything else, is what fuels intense, paranoid fantasies of losing Laurel.

There is no accounting how many times she has conjured up what might happen if a not guilty verdict is returned in this crucial, impending trial. Of how she would be forced to watch Laurel's vibrant olive green eyes turn cold, and of their tense evening at home with all of Dinah's attempts to assuage Laurel's simmering rage failing miserably. Of Laurel eventually tiring of being pawed at and patronized with another _you did your best_ , of her snapping at Dinah and then storming out of their apartment with death emblazoned all over her striking features. Of the morning news reporting the grisly murder of the real estate tycoon recently acquitted of murdering the Governor's son and daughter-in-law. And then the worst part, Laurel sneaking back home the next night, streaks of dried blood staining her blonde mane any ugly rusted shade of red, bags under bloodshot eyes blurry from not having slept on a manic euphoria-induced bender of senseless violence and palpable self-loathing.

Just the thought of anything remotely resembling that scenario coming to pass causes Dinah's stomach to knot with dread like a gnarled tree trunk from some old horror movie. There is little she could conjure up equally as capable of turning her guts into liquid and her heart into a block of burning ice. It is literally the worst possible outcome of this case, one that Dinah does not think she could survive. Losing Vince twice made her say and do and _want_ things she never imagined she could back when she was a young and idealistic Marine. She had thought watching him die as Laurel screamed into his ear was her breaking point. She was wrong. So wrong. Losing Laurel to Black Siren again? That, Dinah thinks, might actually shatter her into so many jagged pieces that a veritable army of puzzle geeks couldn't put her back together.

Imagine then, how quickly panic sets in when she enters their apartment only to find Laurel on the sofa, bent over a notepad on the coffee table, hands tugging at her hair and an ugly sneer marring her pretty lips. After tossing her purse and keys onto the stand next the door, Dinah stalls for a few seconds to gather her courage before risking a breech of the fraught silence.

"Hey..." Dinah winces as much at how tremulous the lame greeting was as at the way Laurel stiffens at hearing it. She berates herself internally, knowing the last thing Laurel needs right now is to hear the doubts regarding her sanity in her girlfriend's voice. After clearing her throat and shaking off the nerves as best she can, Dinah tries again, this time aiming for and successfully achieving a warm concern that any good girlfriend should have upon discovering her partner in such a state. "You okay? You look like you're about ten seconds away from putting Mt. St. Helens to shame."

For a second Laurel just sits there stiff as a board, causing Dinah to hold her breath. She lets it out with a silent prayer of thanks when Laurel heaves a sigh and then runs a shaky hand through her hair.

"It's this fucking case," Laurel says, choice of vocabulary not that surprising. The more stressed – or aroused – she gets, the more f-bombs she drops. "And this fucking opening statement." She gestures wildly toward the notepad as if it were a criminal on trial for felonious assault. "It's just...it's complete and utter dogshit. Patrick Star could construct a better, more persuasive argument. This is the biggest trial of my fucking career and I can't even write an opening statement that would convince a fucking six year old that peas are nasty shit and ice cream is delicious angel food. And I'm just so fucking frustrated and..."

Trailing off, Laurel growls, then sighs again before finally shifting so she can look at Dinah. There is a liquid desperation in her eyes that reveals how close to the edge she is currently teetering.

"I'm at my wits end here, Dinah. I cannot afford to fuck this up. My entire fucking future is riding on the outcome of this case. The Governor has been watching my every move, breathing down my neck twenty-four seven, pressuring me to deliver on this with an unspoken _or else_ hanging over my head like a fucking Damoclean Sword of political homicide. Not only that, but I have an opportunity to really put myself out there, you know? Everyone knows me as Laurel Lance, back from the dead, used to be the Black Fucking Canary or Laurel Lance the unerring crusader for justice. But you know what? I have ambitions. I have aspirations. I'm not that meek Laurel that derived genuine satisfaction putting bad guys behind bars. You know that better than anyone.

"I need challenges, I need high stakes to survive. I can't do mundane, Dinah. I just can't. I _like_ the limelight. I thrive in it. It's exciting and addictive and I'm not ready to fade into obscurity. I don't want to just be a D.A. for a couple more terms and then slink into private practice with my tail between my legs. I want more. I wanna shoot for the stars, 'cause otherwise what's the fucking point? And this case? This is my chance to do that. To make a name for myself in influential circles beyond Star City. Beyond California, even! People in D.C. are following this case. Did you know that? And yet as with everything else, I'm fixing prove to them that I'm nothing but a gargantuan fucking failure. _Fuck!_ "

That last exclamation is punctuated by a fist slamming so forcefully into the dense oak coffee table all of the knickknacks on it clatter and shuffle or are knocked off entirely.

For a second, Dinah just stares at Laurel, a bit flabbergasted at that tirade. All of it, not just the abuse of the table. She's always known a quiet life was not in the cards so long as they are together. Laurel was right about that. There is no getting around who Laurel is as a person. She is as she said. An ambitious daredevil who loves the spotlight and craves the trappings of power. Turning over a newish leaf has not changed those aspects of her character, which is perfectly fine with Dinah. She loves Laurel exactly as she is. It's just...well, she never quite connected those traits to a desire for a political career, and that's exactly what the subtext indicated. Maybe she simply never wanted to. Being the partner of a city councilwoman at most was all she really envisioned.

Now that she's been clued in that Laurel is aiming higher, way higher if her ability to read Laurel is a reliable judge, she finds herself surprisingly willing to make some concessions to help facilitate her partner's so-called aspirations. Is it ideal for her to put their private life up for even more public consumption than it already is? No, not really. But if that's what she has to do to accommodate Laurel's professional ambitions, then she is up for giving it a try. That isn't to say it will work. There is every chance putting their relationship under a microscope will signify impending doom. However, there is also a chance that in helping Laurel spread her wings and fly, she'll discover something new about herself as well. And that is an exciting prospect for someone who is also known for pushing boundaries. The leaps from farm girl to Marine to cop to Black Canary have all been pretty spectacular. So what's one more?

 _First Lady of California does sound kinda nice_.

"Are you just gonna stand there and stare at me? Did I finally scare some sense into you?"

Startled out of her thoughts, Dinah returns her focus to Laurel, whose brows are drawn in tightly and whose lips are pursed in that moody way no one else can accurately replicate. She hadn't meant to leave Laurel hanging, and evidently Laurel took it the wrong way.

Recognizing this moment as critical, Dinah springs into action. "No, no," she says, moving as she talks. "I was just a little stunned by that...outburst. I'm actually kinda glad you got all that out in the open instead of dwelling upon it until it ate you alive. Just...look, I know you're upset, but there's really no need to take it out on the furniture. I assure you, Counselor, the coffee table is innocent."

Ignoring Laurel's scoff, Dinah strides over to the sofa where she approaches danger without a second thought. Three years ago she would never have been so bold seeing as this Laurel Lance is a tempestuous woman by any conceivable standard of comparison. At least once every couple of weeks, at minimum on a monthly basis, Laurel summons up potentially catastrophic hurricanes, which if left to their devices would plow through their relationship with all the tact and delicacy of an irate bull in a china shop. Thankfully by now Dinah has plenty of experience dealing with them. Her ability to forecast Laurel's moods is legendary, and as for actually dealing with them? Well, their friends don't call her the Siren Whisperer for nothing…

Once at the arm of the couch, she bends over to reach for Laurel's hand. Expecting resistance, she is pleasantly surprised when her girlfriend responds positively by taking her hand and lacing their fingers together.

"C'mere for a sec," Dinah says, tugging on Laurel's hand. When Laurel does not obey, she tries again with a bit more force, then adds, "Opening statements can wait, Miss Lance. Right now there is an amazing, loving, and extraordinarily patient girlfriend in dire need of a hug that she happens to think will be mutually beneficial. Perhaps we can have a sidebar to address that very critical and time sensitive matter."

A crack in Laurel's foul mood appears in the form of one corner of her lips quirking up. "Going to shamelessly manipulate me with flowery legalese are you?"

Dinah smirks. "Depends. Is it working?"

Shaking her head, Laurel chuckles. A second later, she pushes off the couch to stand. "Always does," she says, and when pulled close, melts into Dinah's waiting embrace.

For the longest time they just stand there in their living room holding each other, gently swaying to the melody of an important song that Dinah hums for both of their enjoyment. Slowly but surely the coil of irritation and rage that was Laurel unfurls until she is pliant and relaxed and fully ensconced in the heady atmosphere of their love. As sense and control return to Laurel, neither are in a hurry to escape the cocoon of warmth surrounding them, so they remain locked together, indulging in the sensation of their bodies in full contact from hips to shoulders, reveling in one another's scent, hands exploring fit frames both over and under items of clothing, all the while exchanging languid kisses or foreheads resting together as they stare at one other with indescribable adoration and devotion on full display.

This is one of Dinah's favorite things to do – just be with the woman she loves in her arms as every last one of her cares fades away into the background. Her buddies in the Marines always used to affectionately tease her about being so touchy-feely with her romantic partners. Said that real Marines stormed the beaches, fought like devils, then extracted with all due diligence. Of course, they were just breaking her balls, as most of them were unarguably whipped, but she never did escape their nickname for her: Huggy Bear. The label didn't bother Dinah. On the contrary, she wore it with pride. In the field, she was all Marine but at home she was all woman. Those that love her understand and accept the dichotomy. Still do.

Laurel took a while to adjust, having never been the cuddly type, but she has since been at least partially converted to Dinah's soft approach to romance. Which is great because now Dinah can throw on some sultry jazz whenever she's in the mood and drag Laurel into the living room to slow dance to Etta James's sultry crooning, Miles Davis' soulful trumpeting, or Charlie Parker's impassioned saxophone until their feet and legs ache. There are also times just like this when both are content to dwell inside the warm bubble of their love without a care for anything or anyone else. Enveloped by Laurel's smell, remnants of hazelnut coffee on her breath and the gentle fragrant spice of her perfume, and blanketed by the love pouring out from Laurel through her eyes and lips and fingertips, the entire world could go up in flames and Dinah couldn't be bothered to give a damn. This is her heaven, and it if were up to her she would never leave it.

But as Solomon so wisely wrote many thousands of years ago, there is a time for everything under heaven to end. As comfy and happy as she is right now, the reason she initiated this embrace remains an elephant in the room that must be addressed. She can't let Laurel go on like this or the next time she might come home to a trashed apartment. Or worse.

Breaking away from Laurel, albeit reluctantly, Dinah maneuvers them both back to the couch. After seating herself, she encourages Laurel to join her.

"Guess there's no getting out of talking it through this time, huh?" Laurel asks, looking embarrassed and at the same time afraid. Not of Dinah, but of herself, how she has been reacting to this case, and at how she has been wriggling her way out of talking out her issues with Dinah at every turn. The time for deflections and avoidance is over. For them both.

"Afraid not, babe," Dinah says, then pats Laurel's hand comfortingly. "This case has been eating you up. You're irritable – well more irritable than usual –" that earns her a glare, "and it isn't just because of your career being on the line. By the way, I just want to say, I didn't know you had your sights set on climbing the ladder so high. But if that's what you want, I'm with you. A hundred percent."

"Really?"

Laurel sounds as surprised as she looks when she shouldn't. Dinah has been nothing but supportive of her career. As a woman in a profession even more male-oriented than practicing public law, she is well versed in navigating the unfair hardships of gender inequality in the workplace as well as the complex social webs that spring up in a mixed gender environment. Granted, being a Marine more than prepared her for the culture shock of being an ambitious woman in primarily male dominated profession, but that isn't to say it was always easy. More than a few hateful pricks and handsy sleazeballs had to learn the hard way that she doesn't take shit from anyone, no matter how large and in charge they may be. While Laurel's venture as D.A. has been far less problematic on that front, the trauma she experienced at the whims of abusive men before assuming Earth-1 Laurel's life made Dinah's pre-cop days seem like a picnic. For both that reason and her own experiences in the workplace, she would never stand in the way of Laurel's dreams. And that wasn't taking into consideration the more simple motive for her support, that she loves Laurel and only wants the best for her.

So, Dinah is a tad bit offended that Laurel might have assumed she would throw a hissy fit or something after learning about her ambitions. That said, she abstains from making a scene over it since she can't deny she has only really been supportive of Laurel's _current_ career track. They have yet to discuss at any length about where they want to be professionally five or ten years down the road. If this conversation is any indication, they should do so before long.

There is only one major reason Dinah can think of off the top of her head as to why they haven't broached the matter, namely Laurel's reticence to discuss where their relationship is headed. God knows Laurel has been let down and betrayed and burned by love too many times to allow herself the luxury of dreaming of a future outside of fighting for her survival. So it isn't a big shock that she doesn't seem to be operating with an end goal in sight as far as their relationship is concerned.

Dinah, on the other hand, has stubbornly clung to her idealistic vision of the future, so she knows where she wants it to be heading. But a relationship is a two-way street that she cannot navigate solo. Before long, she needs to figure out where Laurel stands as far as what she ultimately wants out of this relationship. Otherwise what are they doing? Spinning their wheels. That's what.

"Of course," Dinah finally answers aloud, careful to keep any offense from slipping into her tone. "I love you. I want you to be happy, and not just with our home life. It's just as important to me that you're being fulfilled by your job. Do you believe that?"

For a second Laurel stares at her in disbelief that is quickly banished by awe. "Yeah..." Her response is whispered so low that it is barely audible, so when Dinah arches a brow indicating she requires clarification, Laurel obliges. "Yes, I believe you. Thank you. That...hearing you say that means more to me than I can really explain."

Dinah doesn't agree. She thinks Laurel is perfectly capable of explaining it, but is merely too stubborn and prideful to admit she derives pleasure from receiving Dinah's validation. Why Laurel is so reluctant to confess to such when she has no trouble doing so in the bedroom is a minor inconvenience Dinah has yet to resolve. She is making observable progress, though!

"Oh, I think I have pretty good idea," she says, unwilling to press that particular issue at present when there are other things to address. "But that's not important right now. What's important right now is why you're all twisted up about this case. I've not seen you like this in a long time, and I have to admit it scares me."

Laurel sighs in frustration then pinches the bridge of her nose before responding. "I'm sorry about that. I never _want_ to scare you. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do. That's why it's scary. If you're not trying to do it, it means something is really wrong. So what is it?"

Another sigh, this one more plaintive and hesitant. "It's about Susie."

"The Ingrams' daughter that was hiding under her bed while her parents were being slaughtered in the next room?"

Dinah will never forget walking into the apartment and seeing that trembling child sandwiched between two detectives who were trying to take her statement. As Captain, she had responded personally to the murder of two prominent members of Star City's upper crust, a family with links that stretched the breadth of the country all the way into the D.C. establishment. The last thing she expected was to be forced to attempt extracting vital information about the crime from a terrified, traumatized seven year old. She didn't make much headway at all, nor did anyone else who tried, before ordering everyone to leave the girl alone until Child Services arrived. And then Laurel waltzed in and everything changed.

"That's her," Laurel says, visage regaining a semblance of vitality as she talks about little Susan Ingram. "Remember I had to interview her a couple times right after the incident and she, uh...weirdly took a shine to me? And how she wasn't really talking to anybody else, so guess who got to spend bunches of quality time with her?"

Dinah smiles, remembering how Susie would cling to Laurel's leg or hand and would never stray much more than a couple steps from the woman who apparently reminded her a lot of her mother. It was half adorable and half amusing watching Laurel discreetly flail for balance at being the sole recipient of a traumatized child's trust.

"Sure. You acted all put out about it but secretly you fell in love with that little girl just like everybody else did. Me included." And that much was undeniably true. When Laurel informed Susie that Dinah was her girlfriend, it was as if she was suddenly inducted into the club. After that, she was present – as was Laurel – at every last one of Susie's official interviews about her parents' deaths. It was impossible not to love a child who could melt through Laurel Lance's sturdy defenses with such breathtaking ease and speed.

"Yeah...well," Laurel winces subtly, "I may have told her about losing my dad and then given her my word I would make sure the man that took her mom and dad away would never walk the streets again." She pauses then, her eyes misting up as she searches for something from Dinah that she is apparently having trouble finding. "Did I lie to her, Dinah? Am I gonna break that little girl's heart? Am I gonna be responsible for sending her into a death spiral like what happened to me after my dad's killer went free? Am I going to turn that precious, innocent child into me? A broken, deranged killer with no conscience."

Her own heart breaking for Laurel and Susie, Dinah shifts on the sofa, angling in toward Laurel so that their knees are touching. She adds her other hand to where she's holding on to Laurel's, one clasping the underside of Laurel's wrist while the other palms the top of her hand.

"Baby, no. First of all, you aren't broken or deranged, and you most certainly have a conscience. You wouldn't care what happens to Susie otherwise. Secondly, I don't believe for a single second that you will let her down. You're going to win this case and give her and her parents the justice they deserve. I know it."

Doubt and self-recrimination marring her features, Laurel pulls her hands away to run them fretfully through her hair. "How? How can you be so confident when I'm not?"

Absently, Dinah reaches out to tuck a strand of loose hair behind Laurel's ear. "'Cause I know you. Sometimes I think better than you know yourself. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Laurel Lance does _not_ make empty promises."

"Maybe you'll change your mind after you read my opening statement," Laurel replies, then groans miserably. "It's really bad..."

"Doubtful. I've always thought you have a unique way with words. Most juries you've addressed seem to have agreed with me." Smiling, Dinah nudges Laurel's shoulder then gestures toward the offending notepad that seems to be the subject of ninety percent of Laurel's ire. "But I know better than to marginalize your concerns, so let's see it. And before you object due to my blatant conflict of interest, I'll be as unbiased as I can. Sound fair?"

With a drawn out sigh, Laurel returns a hesitant nod. "Yeah. Okay. But only because I trust you won't blow smoke up my ass." She then retrieves the notepad and extends it toward Dinah with a slightly unsteady hand.

Reminded of how critical it is to give an honest opinion without being unduly harsh, something she has become adept at living with a woman whose temper frequently has a hair trigger, Dinah respectfully accepts the notepad. "I won't," she says. "I promise." And then, when Laurel settles back into the cushions, legs crossed and arms folded over her chest, she begins to read.

From the first word, it was clear Laurel's stressing was for nothing. The rest of the opening statement does nothing to contradict that assessment. It is, in her opinion, an incredible speech worthy of being represented upon the silver screen.

"Laurel...this is amazing," she croons after finishing the captivating read. Unsurprisingly, Laurel glares at her dubiously. "Seriously! I'm not trying to spare your feelings because I love you. I actually think it's perfect."

Laurel huffs, stubbornly refusing to accept the praise – which is fairly typical, albeit less so now than when they first started dating. "You said it before. You're biased."

"Obviously. But that doesn't mean I can't recognize a winning argument. I've sat through my fair share of trials, and heard a lot of opening statements. And this?" Dinah brandishes the notepad as if it were the smoking gun in her case to prove Laurel is overreacting. "This is so, _so_ good. But..." tossing the notepad back onto the coffee table, she retakes Laurel's hand, "if you're still not happy with it, tell me what you think is wrong. Maybe articulating your concerns and then tossing ideas back and forth will help work out the kinks."

That perks Laurel up. "You sure? I know we haven't had dinner yet..."

"Not a problem," Dinah says confidently. "I'll call in for Thai and have it delivered. We can work til it gets here. Sound good?"

"No. It sounds...wonderful." Silence stretches out between them as Laurel worships Dinah with her eyes as if seeing her for the first time all over again. The heated gaze of those electric green irises elicits a delicious shiver that corkscrews down Dinah's spine. "Damn," Laurel says after completing her languid study, strangely enough voicing Dinah's own thoughts. "I really am the world's luckiest bitch. 'Cause you are _the_ best girlfriend in history." Full lips quirk up at one corner. "If I was as smart as I say I am, I probably ought to listen to Felicity, stop beating around the bush and wife you up."

The trailing comment, out of left field as it is, does not even phase Dinah. Truth be told, she's been fantasizing about taking their relationship to the next level for a while now. There is little else she wants more in the world than to become Mrs. Laurel Lance.

"Amen, babe. From your lips to God's ears," she replies enthusiastically, catching Laurel completely off guard.

"Are you...actually being serious?" Laurel responds, visibly shaken, waves of insecurity pouring off her. "You'd really…? I mean, you wanna…? You would...to me?"

"Laurel. Jesus." Ashamed of herself for leaving any room for doubt, Dinah heaves a self-recriminatory sigh as she scrubs a hand over her face. "I guess I have to work on my communication skills as much as you do, because of course I do." Deciding that there is no time like the present to get started on that noble goal, she gently squeezes Laurel's hand, willing her to understand just how much she really does want to get married. "I've been thinking about it for so long I already have a million ideas about bridesmaid dresses and venues and catering options." When Laurel's eyes widen comically, Dinah realizes how that might sound like an actual proposal. Chuckling, she shakes her head lightly, "Don't freak out, babe. I'm not asking right now. I'm afraid with me being a traditional girl I am in the romance department, that particular ball is in your court. That being said, at least now you know what my answer will be."

Another briefer silence descends, during which Laurel stares at Dinah in utter amazement and worries at her bottom lip. "By chance, is it the same answer you'd give if I asked you for a kiss?" she asks after a few seconds of waging an internal battle with a part of herself Dinah can already guess is making a fuss out of this.

No doubt it will not be the last time Laurel's dark side has cause or opportunity to undermine the direction their relationship will hopefully be taking – and very soon if Dinah has any say in the matter.

Dinah's answering smile is as much to tease as it is an invitation. "I don't know, Miss Lance. Why don't you woman up and find out."

" _Oooo_. A challenge. I likey. Alright. So..." Without prompting, Laurel fluidly slides off the couch and onto her knees. Once situated between Dinah's knees, she offers her hands palm up. And when Dinah slides her hands into Laurel's, those mesmerizing green eyes begin to dance. "Dinah Miriam Drake," Laurel says, all formal and serious yet with the stirrings of an indescribable passion and devotion underscored by a hint of playful affection. "Will you do me the extraordinary privilege of allowing me to kiss you?"

Tears well up in Dinah's eyes at the subtext to a query that was clearly a test run for a much more important one to come. Barely able to contain her urge to jump Laurel's bones on the spot and with her heart soaring through clouds of pure saccharine joy, she smiles. This is the easiest question she has ever been asked. Or at least it will be until she gets asked that other one. Doesn't matter, though. To both, her answer is the same.

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like every other DinahSiren shipper, I loved the scene after Laurel's petition to have Oliver released is denied and Dinah stops her from going after the judge. Dinah has some pretty impressive Siren calming skills, so I wanted to explore that in the setting of an established relationship. This is the result. 
> 
> P.S. If anybody wants to flail like a maniac with me over this pairing on Tumblr, hit me up! Pretty sure there's a link in my profile. If not, I'm there under the same username as my AO3 account.


	5. 2040

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mia's origin story revisited with DinahSiren twist.

Swirling in a lazy circle, Mia surveys her surroundings with a critical eye. The remains of what used to be the center of operations for Star City’s famous team of superheroes is little more than a ruined relic of a bygone era. An era in which masked vigilantes prowled the streets, striking fear into the hearts of criminals of all stripes. An era of idyllic bravery and unheralded service. An era of death and despair.

With a derisive sneer, she glares out at the decrepit complex from it’s circular central platform. Connor, her friend and companion, is nearby milling around the overturned weapons racks. The glee of nostalgia paints his features with a handsome, ambient smile. Mia does not share his enthusiasm for their current location. It was from here that Star City’s famed band of masked heroes labored to rescue the city they loved from the blight of an unchecked corruption that infested it from the slums of the Glades all the way up to the vaunted halls of influence both private and public. All for naught. Sacrifice after sacrifice was made to achieve only temporary victories.

_Would they have tried so hard if they knew how pointless it was?_ Mia thinks, lightly brushing her fingers over a dusty keyboard in all likelihood last touched by Felicity Smoak. _Would they have given up so much if they were told how it would all end? That their friends and loved ones would die and their children be orphaned because of the man they chose to follow?_

Oliver Queen. Mia shudders at the thought of that name. Her hatred of the man has yet to abate since her intensive investigation into the circumstances that preceded her being condemned to an abysmal childhood.

Living on a time ship prior to returning home came with certain advantages, as did having the Captain of said ship as an aunt, among them access to comprehensive histories of multiple universes. Thanks to a series of ingenious upgrades to Gideon installed by none other than Cisco Ramon shortly before her birth, she was able to efficiently sift through the massive stores of data and make sense of the interwoven events that resulted in her abandonment. By the time she was done the causal point all other incidents in the web traced back to was, in her opinion, conclusive. Were it not for Oliver Queen surviving the sabotaging of the Queen’s Gambit and being unfairly guilted into righting his father’s innumerable wrongs, everything would be different.

It was that seminal event that set off a chain reaction of unavoidable tragedies. Less than two decades later, the city of her birth was ultimately reduced to an ashen wasteland and her homeworld was occupied by unimaginably evil forces bent on its destruction. As if that were not reason enough for her grudge, due to Oliver’s actions her family was made to suffer through one hell after another beginning with her grandparents’ divorce, to her grandfather’s alcoholism, to her aunt being murdered in cold blood, and finally to her mother’s totally preventable death. One man’s deluded crusade was responsible for all of that, including her own personal traumas, as well as for the millions of innocents who have been slaughtered and those left behind to mourn them due to the endless series of wars and coups and crime waves that were ushered in by the rise of popular vigilantism.

No one knew it then, but the Hood’s arrival in Starling City was the beginning of the end for Earth-1.

Unbidden, a growl of unfettered animosity rumbles through Mia’s chest. If only she could get her hands on Oliver Queen to unleash years worth of enmity upon the primary catalyst of her city’s downfall. If only she could expel every last ounce of her pent up anguish upon the unwitting author of her family’s destruction. If only justice had not been slain by the gleaming verdant tip of an arrow, she might have her day of reckoning upon the one she has judged guilty for her family’s misery and for the cruel subjugation of an entire world. If only...

_Sadly one cannot exact vengeance upon the dead,_ she thinks, not for the first time wishing for someone, anyone, to prove that principle incorrect _._

Her hands clench into tight balls as she leaps down the platform stairs then stalks purposefully in the direction of the table that once served as the _de facto_ round table of Team Arrow. She circles around the table several times, studying the warped metal supports and broken glass so symbolic of those who once commiserated here, before coming to a stop behind a plush albeit otherwise ordinary office chair. This particular one was the throne of the Green Arrow from whence he unwittingly presided over the ruination of all he claimed to love.

“ _You have failed this city_.” Such an ironic catch-phrase from a man who epitomized the charge he so smugly flung at his countless victims. Truth be told, Star City was better off in the hands of the criminal element that ruled unopposed prior to Oliver initiating his ill-fated crusade. Anything would be better than the constant human suffering to which Mia is exposed around every street corner in a city that once was vibrant with false hope.

When she was still in diapers, or so she has been told, people started to believe worst days were over and that the seemingly endless supply of mustache-twirling villains was finally set to be exhaust thanks to the tireless efforts of the SCPD working alongside the Green Arrow and his team. The problems in the Glades, so long unaddressed, were being taken seriously by the government while most other districts flourished in the midst of what historians would dub the _Pacem Per Sagitta._ Crime and homelessness plummeted as unemployment rates bottomed out. Tax revenues soared. City services expanded dramatically. By every conceivable metric, the city’s happiness index was at peak levels. People dared to hope that a fledgling future which seemed oh-so-bright might survive into adulthood for their children. Sadly that fleeting period of relative peace ended the day City Hall was introduced to an alien material that makes _azidoazide azide_ seem tame in comparison while Lex Corp tower was simultaneously transformed into a misshapen pancake of concrete and steel.

Now the city is but a ghostly shell of its former glory, a metropolitan corpse inhabited by a host of miscreants, degenerates, fools and lost souls. No one possessing a shred of common sense or with available means to escape stuck around to watch as the last desperate line of defense fell before a rabid onslaught. Long before the final assault was launched three days before Christmas, the vast majority of businesses closed while prominent and wealthycitizens hastily vacated the districts for surrounding cities and states. Some thirteen months after the Green Arrow alongside his superhuman colleague the Flash inexplicably vanished without a trace, the city perimeter was at last catastrophically breached. Enemy forces poured in, easily overwhelming ill-equipped reserve units comprised mainly of volunteers and conscripts. Less than two days later, the city government surrendered. In short order, law and order collapsed, and with it municipal services, as the mercenary armies of a group calling themselves The Seventh Circle took control. Their ascension signified the initiation of a new age of terror that would outstrip all that came before.

Every district of Star City fell to the invaders save the Glades, which was miraculously spared the indiscriminate razing. Those that refused to submit to their ghastly new overlords were summarily executed, with the most prominent citizens treated to a macabre public spectacle belonging more to the Dark Ages than the Twenty-first Century. The mayor, half of the city council, and a good portion of the top SCPD brass were immediately disposed of alongside key members of the resistance movement that were captured in the fighting around City Hall. Lyla Michaels and John Diggle were the last notable leaders to fall prey to the Seventh Circle’s inhuman butchers some three years later. Felicity Smoak was spared solely for her usefulness to the Seventh Circle, though she never explained to Mia precisely why she capitulated when her friends paid the ultimate price for refusing to do the same. All she would do is shake her head, mutter under her breath about needing to stay alive to find _‘the key_ ’ and then promptly move on to another unrelated subject.

That Mia would not even exist if events played out differently does not really matter when her life barely passes for anything worth inhabiting nine days out of ten. She is virtually alone in the world since Felicity’s death, her subsistence of late is a far cry from the spartan rations doled out aboard _The_ Waverider, and what little she has scrounged up for herself has been mainly purchased by virtue of her fists. Her diet typically consists of dried fruits and vegetables with a few cubes of salted meat and stale bread, all washed down with tepid water, while her apartment is little more than a dingy hole in the wall just big enough to pass as an inhabitable domicile. And she is doing relatively well for herself compared to most. Her only real friend stays by her side solely out of obligation to an oath he swore to a digital recording left to him by his dead father, which he was to watch upon his eighteenth birthday. That was four months ago now. And while Connor is a good person, perhaps the reason his shadowing of her is such an abrasive irritant to Mia is that she is anything but. She is, or so Felicity glumly insists, her mother’s daughter.

Thoughts of the woman whose body nourished her for nine long months quickly turn Mia’s gut sour. Acid scours her stomach lining as the burning acrimony in her heart toward one Oliver Queen inflames all over again.

Mia was not even a year old when her mother died saving the Green Arrow from a collapsing building the fateful day The Seventh Circle announced their presence to the city they would soon enough conquer. The great hero of Star City was in such a rush to escape a grisly demise that he broke a cardinal rule when he left one of his own behind. After her mother freed him from the wreckage of an interior office using her meta powers, he had wrongly assumed she was on his heels as they fled from a rapidly encroaching doom. Only when he emerged into the warm summer night did he realize he had exited alone. By then it was too late for him to make amends for his fatal mistake and repay the selfless act that spared his life. The building came down seconds later, pulverizing all remaining within beneath fifty thousand tons of rubble. There was nothing left of her mother to bury.

“Good riddance to a selfish bastard who did nothing but sow death and destruction wherever he went,” Mia spits, hateful glee underscoring her words. Her animosity for the man is only rivaled by that for the still-living Black Canary – whom she blames in equal measure for her mother’s death.

A disturbing mental image pops into her head just then of what it must have been like for her mother to sacrifice her life for a man who did not deserve her loyalty or devotion. Reportedly, Oliver had been an asshole for much of her mother’s first few years on Earth-1, and even once she proved herself as a valuable asset and steadfast ally he refused to let her forget the many sins she had committed while in service to a revolving door of evil men who had offered her something she could not refuse: a convenient outlet for her pain. Hunter Zolomon. Adrian Chase. Ricardo Diaz. These infamous names were callously flung in her mother’s face every time she made the tiniest mistake. No member of Team Arrow was treated more unfairly or subjected to such harsh criticism by Oliver as Mia’s mother was. Had it not been for the surprising friendship offered by Felicity and the unexpected love of Mia’s other genetic contributor, her mother might have fallen short in in turning her life around to honor a father who believed in his wayward daughter when no one else would.

And yet in all this her mother never stopped loving the bastard who wore a face and bore a name she could never turn her back upon.

“ _I’ve never lied to you about your mother, Mia. She had a lot of faults. Really, really bad ones,_ ” Felicity told Mia one night when they were working late. Somehow the conversation devolved from engineering schematics of an old chemical plant to the complicated relationship between her missing husband and a dear friend for whom the tech magnate never stopped grieving. “ _One of the worst was her ability to endure abuse from people she cared for. And Oliver...was a hard man who was molded by a past so dark that your Mom was maybe the only person who truly understood the pain he constantly lived with. They brought out the best in each other – and also the worst. So yes, Oliver was very hard on your Mom. But only because he cared._ ”

“ _Is that supposed to buy him some credit in my eyes or something? Maybe change my opinion about him by drawing parallels between him and my Mom?_ ” Mia had grumbled obstinately, not liking the target of her rage being humanized.

“ _No. I know better than to expect you to stop hating him,_ ” Felicity had softly replied, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “ _God knows you have a right to your feelings. But I have a right to mine, too, Mia. He was my husband and I still love him. So where he is concerned, we’re just gonna have to agree to disagree if we’re gonna keep working together._ _Deal?_ ”

Felicity then extended her hand, all of that softness gone, and it was then Mia finally, irrevocably divorced her admiration Felicity Smoak from her loathing of Oliver Queen. The point that was trying to be made, however, fell short of making any lasting impact. For her mother to have fought so hard to overcome a shitty life, to have worked so hard for redemption, and to have finally achieved a measure of genuine happiness in this world only to have it crushed under the colossal weight of Lex Corps’ Star City offices was the ultimate ‘ _fuck you_ ’ from the universe. That Oliver Queen could have prevented that tragedy by displaying a smidgen of the situational awareness he was so famous for made him the guilty party in an injustice that is a fiery hot coal burning incessantly inside Mia’s chest. For Felicity’s sake, she spoke of Oliver almost dispassionately, but the rage never departed from her heart. Nor will it when her mother is dead and can never be avenged. Oliver’s shocking disappearance less than a year later forever eliminated that possibility.

Brooding upon her mother’s final excruciating moments as that building came down around her, Mia feels the circuit of her self-control short out. In a pique of arcing fury, she vocalizes her fury as she viciously kicks the offensive chair whose occupant symbolizes everything she hates, sending it tumbling across the room toward the central platform. She pointedly ignores Connor’s brow furrowing with disapproval over the disrespectful outburst. Team Arrow are still his idols, having lost none of their shine as she has slowly spoon-fed him the unfiltered truth behind their demise.

_The idealistic fool will never believe they were anything but picture perfect superheroes like he reads about in his stupid comics._

Fetching the flask out of her back pocket, anger spent for now, Mia brandishes it in the direction of the Green Arrow’s seat, now turned on its side several feet away. “May Oliver Queen burn in hell for the rest of eternity. Amen.” To punctuate her bitter comment, she unscrews the top then takes a hearty swig.

“Didn’t anybody teach you respect for the dead, little girl?”

Mia swirls in place toward the direction the voice emanated from. A voice she needs no visual confirmation to identify. It’s one she would recognize anywhere seeing as she’s heard it a million times on the documentary she painstakingly dug up from the old Star City Library’s archives. The voice of a woman she hates – and in a sense even more than Oliver Queen. For whereas Oliver was ultimately responsible for so much general death and pain and grief, this woman is her own personal villain.

Dinah Drake.

The name alone reignites Mia’s unruly temper. Fists tightening until her knuckles pop, she searches the perimeter of the ruins until her keen eyes spot something moving within the shadows next to one of Felicity Smoak’s custom built server arrays. A moment later a familiar form emerges from the inky darkness. On instinct, her knees unlock and her legs spread into a proper fighting platform.

“I have plenty of respect for the ones that deserve it,” she finally replies, caustic bitterness seeping into her tone as it always does around the Black Canary. “And I’m far from a little girl. Ask the two hundred thirty pound meathead I knocked out cold a couple hours ago. If he can even answer through a broken jaw, that is.”

Dinah chuckles tauntingly as she departs the comfortable seclusion of the shadows. Draped in leather, she cuts a striking figure, still in peak fighting shape and hauntingly beautiful even in her early fifties. The stark red line scored across her throat is a reminder to Mia of the harrowing events, described in excruciating detail by an incredibly drunken Felicity, that precipitated her parents falling in love. A gift from the Star City Slayer that robbed the Canary of her supernatural song.

Pity for Dinah wells up from somewhere deep inside, and Mia rushes to strangle it with a ruthlessness that has served her so well in the fighting cages. Losing her powers must have been devastating to Dinah, and yet it was no less than she deserved if only for the unforgivable betrayals she committed against her own flesh and blood several years later.

“I would, but I have a feeling they’d tell me what I already know,” says Dinah, slowly sauntering toward the two youths trespassing on what is to her hallowed ground, a lair where some of her best memories were made.

This is the place where she learned how to be more than a public servant, more than a citizen, more than a soldier, more than an irrationally angry woman hellbent on revenge. It was here she learned how to be a hero. Had she never met Oliver, never become the Black Canary, her life would be so much more meaningless. The path she was heading down would have ultimately led either to one of three infamous dungeons constructed solely to imprison metas or to a premature, and very likely horrific, death.

It was Oliver who pulled her out of the pit of rage and self-loathing she crawled into after Vinny’s death by reminding her what honor means, and just in time too as she had very nearly lost all concept of it in pursuit of vengeance. He then trained her, taught her to fight against foes of a skill tier she could not have dreamed of facing as a lowly vice detective, gave her a purpose greater than herself, made her believe in herself again, and in doing so not only save her life but her immortal spirit. Without him, she would be nothing, would be a nameless number in a dark hole or a pile of rotting bones six feet beneath the earth.

And yet here she is, still struggling to preserve the soul of the city Oliver so loved and dedicated himself to. For what purpose? So many have asked her that question. The answer is that she owes him that and so much more, because not only did he save her, but he also introduced her to her chosen family for whom she would gladly lay down her life and indirectly brought the love of her life into her orbit. On days when it is nearly impossible to even crawl out of bed for the despair that hangs over her like an oppressive pall, she can draw upon the best memories of the happiest days of her life with her friends and her spouse, which never would have happened had Oliver not taken such an enormous risk on her. That is why no one speaks ill of him without provoking her wrath. Especially not an acerbic, broody, sarcastic street urchin like this.

As always around the girl whose name she was told is Maya, her attention never strays far as she moves in closer. Offended as she is by the intrusion upon this sacred space and as upset as she is about the girl’s heartless disparagement toward a man she still admires above all others, there is something about her that intrigues Dinah. And frightens her. There is a violence in those brilliant green eyes that reminds Dinah of someone else, of another blonde who loved to argue and throw punches nearly as much as she loved to breathe.

Having observed the girl in the illegal fighting pits, Dinah stops a stone’s throw away, eyeing her potential opponent critically. Not many since Oliver disappeared have earned her respect for their wild tenacity and breathtaking skill in combat, but this girl is one of them. The efficient brutality she witnessed in the cages was beyond impressive, especially for someone so young.

“You’re a great fighter in the ring,” she then finishes her point, “but a moody, irritating brat on the outside.”

“The vaunted Black Canary,” Mia replies, lids narrowing as her blood begins to boil. “So quick to judge those you don’t know. If I were you I’d be more careful. Somebody might get wise and finally call you out on your hypocrisy.”

Dinah rolls her eyes and scoffs, suddenly glad that William and Zoe are elsewhere so they are not exposed to this...unfounded vitriol. “Oh, that’s rich. How, pray tell, am I the hypocrite when you are doing precisely what you just now condemned me for?” When no response is given, Dinah barks out a derisive laugh. “What’s the matter, little girl. Cat got your tongue? Or are you all bark and no bite when faced with a harsh truth from one of your betters.”

Considering what this woman has done, that statement is an absurd joke so far as Mia is concerned. “Ha! I know two-bit sleaze bags who are better and more honorable than you.”

Something pricks at the back of Dinah’s mind, the same place that tickles when she was closing in on cracking a case that had driven her crazy for weeks or longer. A mystery is unraveling right before her eyes, puzzle pieces are being hectically slotted together by her deduction-oriented gray matter, but as of yet she cannot make sense of what revelation her subconscious is trying to convey.

Dinah crosses her arms over her chest, feeling unsettled and defensive all of the sudden. “Now that’s a claim I’m going to have to insist you back up. Which sleazebags in particular are you referring to? I’ve encountered my fair share.”

“Nobody you’d know...” Mia trails off, not having expected to be called out and not liking having the tables turned on her by someone with whom she has an intensely personal beef.

“Really? Sounds to me like you’re talking out of your ass, little girl,” Dinah growls, clearly on the edge of losing her patience.

“I told you to stop calling me that!”

“I will when you stop acting like one. Or you stop me. Either way is fine with me, _Little Girl_.”

Incensed by the bald provocation, Mia surges toward Dinah, intent on unloading a decade’s worth of anguish and blame. Fortunately for the Black Canary, Connor intercepts Mia before she can reach her target and holds her back as she angrily resists despite knowing her efforts to be futile. Connor is freakishly strong and knows all of her moves. There will be no getting out of his iron grip. Eventually she tires of trying to break free and reels away, steaming.

Muscles tense on the edge of snapping, panting for breath, eyes wild, she paces for a moment like a caged, starving tiger who is being taunted by a juicy slab of meat. That burning sensation in the back of her throat that has been present since she can remember whenever she is agitated flares up with a vengeance. The pressure building up inside her chest and throat is so terrific it takes every ounce of her willpower not to scream to the top of her lungs in a desperate bid for relief.

Instead of giving in to that impulse, she funnels her agitation into her go-to coping mechanism when violence is not appropriate. Whirling back around, she points at Dinah, unbridled rancor fueling her movements as much as her words.

“You know what? Fuck you. Just...fuck you! You’re nothing but a spineless coward. A failure. A traitor to your own kin! A worthless piece of shit only fit to be scraped off the soles of my boots. A heartless bitch who pretends to be so righteous and perfect and selfless when you are anything but. You’re a fraud, and a liar, and I hate you more than you’ll ever know!”

Brows arched as high as they will go, Dinah endures the tirade with barely concealed irritation. “All of these baseless accusations and not a single shred of proof as to their veracity. Sling pejoratives at me all you want, but all I’m hearing right now is the insufferable whining of a kid who thinks she knows how the world works but hasn’t a clue.”

“Oh, I know plenty,” Mia bites back, her control slipping again, and with it her will to withhold knowledge that will hurt Dinah more keenly than the sting of any weapon. “I know that I spent almost half of my life being abused and the other half chasing down ghosts all because of you. I know that I’m not the only one who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire because it is your fault that everything I have loved has been taken away from me, beginning with my birth mother. If only Aunt Sara were here, she’d...”

“Mia...” The tall, hulking boy who looks vaguely familiar shoots a pleading glances for his tiny companion to power down the vitriol. Sadly, as Dinah figured it would, his plea goes unheeded.

Too far gone to heed his warning, Mia barrels along under a full head of steam. “No, Connor! This self-righteous bitch needs to know that she isn’t the paragon of virtue she believes she is. How could anyone delude themselves like she has and call themselves a hero? A _real_ hero would love and take care of her only child instead of tossing her away like a piece of fucking garbage!” Accusing green eyes pin a reeling Dinah down. “I mean, isn’t that exactly what you did?” When Dinah reels back, blanching, eyes blown comically wide, Mia shoots her a vicious, victorious sneer. “C’mon now. No need to deny it. We both know what you did to your _daughter_.”

Shocked to the depths of her soul, Dinah grapples to understand what the hell is going on. “What? How do you…? Who told you that?”

The spluttering response is indicative of her bone-deep confusion. There are very few people living who are aware she had a child, none of whom – or so she thought – were privy to the fact her baby did not die, but was in fact taken away from her and then put up for adoption because she was guilty as charged: a failure of a mother.

When her fiancee died, Dinah essentially much lost her mind. In a repeat of the aftermath of Vince’s death – only exponentially worse – she alternated immersing herself head first into whatever cheap form of liquor she could get her hands on until she passed out with needlessly picking fights. Most of those physical altercations were with bad guys twice her size that she took on without backup, and that many of them wound up hospitalized after she was done with them was of no concern to her. All she cared about was numbing the pain however and whenever she could.

Such reckless, disturbing behavior was not conducive to caring for an eleven month old baby girl. Which is why Dinah didn’t put up a fight when Rene took her daughter away from her in the middle of one of her vilest binges. Nor did she rail at Felicity for helping Rene find her baby new parents they both insisted were more than capable of providing the stable, loving home she could not. Instead of sobering up like she should have to fight for her daughter, she just sat at home, more miserable than ever, and drowned herself in Jack Daniels and tears. At the time, she was too far gone to do much else.

It took five long years for Dinah to crawl out of the lonely, filthy hole of withering depression and borderline madness she dug for herself. Even though she felt unworthy to reclaim a spot in her daughter’s life, she tried to track her down only to find all traces of the couple who adopted her were erased from the system. Not even Felicity with the full might of her gigantic server farm at Smoak Tech could track down her baby girl. Heartbroken all over again and so ashamed she could hardly stand to look at herself in a mirror, Dinah focused all of her energies on carrying on Oliver’s mission to save Star City, hoping in time the fickle whims of fortune might swing in her direction one last time. Only it never has.

Though Dinah has spent more time and money than is reasonable in the pursuit, she never located her daughter. And the shame of what she did to lose the sole surviving fruit of a love she thought could not possibly exist is still as fresh as the day she woke up in rehab. Sober for the first time in half a decade, she finally realize the depth to which she had descended to have so criminally neglected the last piece of her lost love that her friends felt it necessary to intervene lest a truly appalling tragedy occur.

Alone, and destitute, she had to rebuild her life from the ground up. So that’s what she did. It was only much later that she reconnected with a grown up Zoe, who she took under her wing and trained as her replacement. In a lot of ways, Zoe was a balm upon the wound that was her missing daughter. Were it not for Zoe’s faith and trust and affection, Dinah isn’t sure where she would be right now. All of her friends cut her off as she neared the terminal point of her self-destructive spiral. Sometimes it feels like Zoe is the only person in the world who still gives a damn about her. Not that she deserves even that much considering what she did to her own flesh and blood.

Regardless of how Felicity and Rene’s opinions of her, she had believed her secret was safe with them. Hate her as they may, they both loved her baby girl, and neither of them have ever hinted at indulging temptation to expose her most damning trespass. But apparently she was wrong.

“Who told me that?” Mia asks, tone taunting. “The question you _should_ be asking is about my birth name. Maya Blackstar, I am not. Now that you’ve heard my real first name now thanks to Connor here, what comes after Mia? Care to wager a guess?” Silence is her only answer. “Oh, c’mon. How can you not know who I am? Felicity recognized me within ten seconds of meeting me outside Smoak Tech.”

Dinah’s heart stutters then constricts until pain lances through her chest. A piercing chill races up the length of her body as she connects the dots laid out plainly before her. The age is all wrong. But everything else is screaming out an identity that should be by any natural explanation impossible. The hair color. The eye color. The cut of Mia’s jawline and nose and brow. The shape of her lips and eyes. The way she moves when she fights in the cages. Her elegant savagery. Her insatiable rage. All that is missing is the sonic scream that could never have manifested thanks to Cisco and Felicity’s meta suppression implant.

Suddenly all Dinah can see is an image she has, for the sake of her mental health, unsuccessfully attempted to forget. A tall, svelte woman arrayed in a sleek black leather uniform, curve-hugging top with dual knee-length coattails attached to the hemline over top tight booty shorts, suggestive fishnets, and fancy knee-high heeled boots. A black choker wrapped around an elegant throat. Side-swept blonde hair tumbling down over shapely shoulders. Black painted lips curled up into an insufferably smug smirk, golden septum ring glinting in the moonlight. Not for the first time even today, Laurel Lance stands straight and proud in her mind’s eye. Vibrant and alive. Menacing and so terribly beautiful that Dinah would cry if she were safe within the secluded confines of her apartment.

Juxtaposed with the youth before her, it’s so easy to see the resemblance now. All she has to do is mentally place Mia in Laurel’s wardrobe, arrange them shoulder-to-shoulder beside herself in front of a mirror, and the awful truth dawns like a solemn bell sounding an alarm over a town previously ignorant to the impending catastrophe lurking on the fringes.

_It can’t be. Can it? There’s just no way it’s her. I mean, it’s impossible because she is way too old._ My _Mia would only be_ _e_ _leven_ _right now_ _– err, wait. Didn’t she say something about_ The Waverider _and her Aunt Sara. Oh, fuck! But surely Sara would have told me if Mia was with her. And if not her, than Felicity surely would have when they met. Wouldn't they?_

The answer to that last question is self-evident. Sara would not have contacted Dinah because she never forgave her for Laurel’s death – and rightly so when Dinah never forgave herself. It was supposed to be her backing Oliver up that night, not Laurel. But she’d been too tired having stayed up half the night with a feverish, grumpy baby and Laurel had so sweetly volunteered to cover with Team Arrow that she simply couldn’t say no. So she fell asleep on the couch with Mia laid across her chest while her wife of four years was being eradicated from existence by Lex Luthor, the great betrayer of the human race.

At the funeral, Sara would not meet Dinah’s eyes except to convey a seething condemnation that was as present in her gaze as it was in the clenching of her jaw and the balling of her fists. And when Sara learned about Rene and Felicity taking Mia away? Well, to say that confrontation got ugly would be like saying a monsoon brought a little rain. The only reason Sara didn’t kill Dinah that night was Ava discovering her long time partner’s deadly intentions and arriving in the nick of time to stop the carnage. When Sara was finally dragged off, Dinah was a writhing mess of blood and pain who could only listen, and sob miserably, as her sister-in-law passed sentence upon her like she was a target of the League.

“ _You’re lucky Ava knows me so well_ _and that I love her too much to do something she would hate me for_ _,_ ” Sara had said, fists raw and bloodied, all coiled up venom and hatred. “ _But if I ever see your face again, even she won’t be able to stop me from finishing the job._ ”

For obvious reasons, they haven’t spoken since.

As for Felicity...Dinah was not the only one to lose a spouse during the horrific year retroactively dubbed as The Long Twilight. Oliver’s disappearance, and presumed death, followed by a stress-induced miscarriage forever quenched Felicity’s light. The bright, overly excitable, adorably nerdy chatterbox she was proud to call her friend quickly devolved into an intensely pessimistic, highly unstable genius who used her amazing brain to do awful things. Whereas Dinah coped through measured violence and the bottle, Felicity submersed herself into building an empire and using the immense resources she accrued to punish the world around her for the pain she could not escape. It was inevitable that their divergent paths meant they drifted apart and that their friendship, like nearly every one of Dinah’s relationships since The Long Twilight, withered on the poisoned vine and died.

The last she heard from Felicity was a bewildering message which cryptically stated: “ _Don’t believe the narrative that’s being fed to us. Some things are not what they seem. Up can be down and lost can be found. Just have to find the key._ ” Two days later the news rolled in that Felicity Smoak was found murdered in her office at Smoak Tech.

So yes, it is entirely possible that Felicity, perhaps even in cahoots with Sara, kept this colossal secret. And why shouldn’t she? It wasn’t like Dinah ever attempted to reach out and span the yawning chasm of distrust between them. She’d been too proud as of yet to grovel and equally reluctant to find out how the new, frightfully hostile Felicity might react to any peaceful overtures.

As reality sinks in as to what that cowardice might have cost her, she also begins to accept what she’s being told, and the shock she had felt moments before rapidly becomes an unbearable mix of emotions. Eyes stinging with salty tears, the name she heard less than a minute ago escapes her lips with little more than a shaky breath.

“Mia…?”

An almost euphoric grin spreads across Mia’s lips as she watches the Black Canary, that paragon of strength and nobility, unravel into a weak, vulnerable, uncertain woman whose entire world has just been upended. She hadn’t planned on spilling the beans so soon, having preferred to stretch out the torment over weeks or months; but now that the truth has come out she can’t deny how sweet it is to observe the horror and shame playing across her mother’s face. Her other mother, that is.

When Mia turned thirteen, her Aunt Sara sat her down to explain her unusual parentage. As the details were laid out, she at first wondered if a mistake was made. How could two women be her biological parents? Perhaps, she thought, she had been the result of artificial reproductive techniques like In Vitro or sperm donation. Come to find out there is technology belonging to an alien – one whom all of Team Arrow, including her parents, had befriended – from another Earth capable of enabling same sex couples to biologically reproduce. Her aunt called it a Genesis Chamber. Said that her parents were honored to be one of a few select human couples permitted to utilize the facility. Something called a Kelex reportedly determined their potential offspring to be highly beneficial to human evolution due to their unique meta DNA. That, and their saving the life of a very important woman named Alex Danvers indebted the vessel’s rightful owners to them.

Whatever the case behind her conception, Mia was just happy to know that there was a time she was actually wanted by her birth parents. Loved even if Felicity was any reliable narrator of the past. But then she found out about Laurel, her birth mother, dying to save Oliver’s life, and how her other mother Dinah essentially checked out on their helpless baby due to grief. She was also informed that a man named Rene took her away from Dinah one rainy night in September when he checked in on his friend only to find her in an alcohol induced coma while Mia was screaming her head off in her playpen having been neglected for who knows how many hours. Five years later Dinah got sober, but by then Mia was already absent from Earth-1, having been rescued from an abusive home by her beloved Aunt Sara.

Needless to say pretty much the only thing she feels for Dinah is disgust.

“That’s it,” Mia says, relishing Dinah’s pain, needing to witness more to assuage the years of hurt and anger that have accumulated toward her only living immediate blood relative. “Say it. Say my name. That useless old book was right about one thing: the truth will set you free.”

Dinah is so shell-shocked, so devastated, so dangerously hopeful that her entire body trembles. This is the moment she’s been waiting for. And dreading. After being separated from her baby girl for so long, to have her right here within arm’s reach is a dream come true. At the same time it is a nightmare from which she doesn’t think she’ll ever awaken. Because the young lady before her is so deeply resentful, having been traumatized and abused by her adoptive family and then raised on a time ship with a bunch of morally gray misfits instead of the warmth of loving home with her parents, all the while believing she was unwanted by her own mother.

This girl – this haunted, hateful, beautiful girl – is her daughter, the only tangible proof remaining that Laurel was real and their love was extraordinarily special. And she _hates_ Dinah. It’s enough to rend in twain what remains of Dinah’s shredded heart.

“Oh, God.” Dinah chokes down a sob, eyes now watering past the ability of her lids and lashes to contain the tears of joy and grief. “Mia. Is it really you? Is it...”

“I said, say my name!”

Mia’s explosive demand startles Dinah to such a degree she physically flinches. “Your name…” she trails off, draws in a shaky breath before recovering a modicum of composure. _Time to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Buck up. Put on a strong front. Be the mother you should have been all those years ago._ Shoulders straightening, she bravely and resolutely meets Mia’s eyes. “Your name is Mia Deardon Lance.”

So named Mia for Dinah’s beloved Nana and Deardon because Laurel had made an oath to her Oliver their firstborn daughter would somehow honor the distinguished but fiercely loving woman who was much Laurel’s mother as his. There hadn’t been a single argument about their respective choices, a rarity in their...occasionally contentious relationship. Dinah has never felt and never saw Laurel more proud than when she announced their newborn daughter’s name to their loved ones who had just spent eleven hours in a waiting room and yet were so effusively happy that they could scarcely contain themselves. Mia is their greatest accomplishment, and however much Dinah failed her that remains an indisputable fact.

“And there we have it. The awful, terrible truth. Isn’t it just wonderful?” Mia says, feeling the weight of a lifetime belonging to no one rescind from her shoulders. She has a mother now. _If only that mother was Laurel instead._ Stepping forward into Dinah’s personal space, she smirks as she goes in for the kill. “Hi, Mom. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but that would be a lie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this idea long before we knew Mia was in fact Mia Smoak. That is just so boring. Bleh. Not only do I hate Olicity but they have a kid now. Talk about salt in the wound. Oh well. That's what fanfic is for. Right? Right!


	6. Dears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurel has discovered Dimash. Poor Dinah.

Lower back aching from a long day hunched over her desk, Dinah trudges up the hallway toward her apartment upon leaden feet.

With quarterly reports due in less than three days, she spent the better part of eight hours slaving over them to prevent disaster. She cannot afford to turn them in late. To make matters worse, she had spent the previous four hours attending to one crisis after another at the precinct, including a potentially explosive personnel issue that required direct intervention. Slogging through mounds of paperwork after such an exciting morning made for a tedious, boring, aggravating, seemingly endless afternoon.

Sadly she really didn’t have any other choice but to grit her way through it. Can’t give the Brass any more reason to ride her ass over relatively inconsequential issues just because they don’t approve of her affiliation with certain independent policing elements that dared skip out on earning their badges through the soul-crushing mill that is the Star City Police Academy. So while dotting every _I_ and crossing every _T_ to appease her imperious, condescending, intolerant overlords is not her ideal of efficient law enforcement, she put her nose to the grinder like the good soldier the Marine Corps so methodically produced and got the damn job done. Or at least enough so that she could cut in time to at least spend five minutes with her fiancee before flopping face first into bed.

It was nearly a quarter past ten when Dinah finally peeled out of the parking lot. Irritation warred with anticipation as she pushed the pristine, all matching numbers, 427 cubic inch motor on her precious baby girl – a glossy black ‘68 Stingray Coupe Laurel helped her finance as an engagement present – as hard as she could while maintaining safe control. As it tends to, the gorgeous purr of the engine in fourth gear soothes away some of her frustration. Some being the operative word since she can’t help but dwell on what she will have to forgo due to the late hour. A nice, relaxing evening binging _Killjoys_ with her other half would have been far preferable to the scant half hour of snuggling on the couch they would be afforded between Dinah needing to eat something, take a shower, and then decompress from the stress of the day with a bit of meditation. But...any time with Laurel is better than nothing, so she pressed the gas pedal down a little harder and resolved to make the best of her circumstances just like her Nana taught her.

Back in the present, thoughts of Laurel cause a crooked smile to slowly light up Dinah’s weary features. Talk about a wonderful handful of seductive danger, bossy attitude, and limitless passion wrapped in a lithe frame and alluringly decorated with shimmering green eyes and irresistible dimples. There isn’t much Dinah doesn’t love about the whole package that is Laurel Lance, which goes a long way toward explaining why she puts up with so much trouble and sass on a daily basis. Sure, she doesn’t take any shit without standing up for herself, but she has never been under any illusion as to who wears the pants in their relationship. Which is perfectly fine with her. For Laurel, she is happy to slip on the daisy dukes, so to speak.

Several of their friends think it’s hilarious, and a bit confusing, that she can be such an assertive hardass at work then immediately turn into an enormous gooey marshmallow the second she gets home. To be honest, Dinah would be a bit confused as well at the diametric shift in her attitude between her public and private personas if she could be bothered to care. Ten years ago she probably would never have allowed herself to be so soft for any romantic partner, let alone someone as abrasive as Laurel can be, but ten years ago she was a different person altogether. Instead of hardening her heart, the many losses she has suffered in the interim have taught her to appreciate the fragility of life and to never take for granted how precious love is.

If there is one thing in her life she is absolutely sure of, it is that she loves Laurel Lance with all that she is and all that she has. And that she can say with equal confidence that sentiment is fully reciprocated only strengthens her resolve to not give a damn what anyone else thinks about the peculiar dynamics of their relationship. So what if she is teasingly referred to as a bottom for the rest of her life? If that means she’s still with Laurel when she’s old and gray, she’ll wear that label with pride. External opinions are irrelevant when no one has ever made her feel as safe and happy and fulfilled – and perpetually challenged – as Laurel has and does.

Ready to melt into strong arms that never fail to soothe away the troubles of a long day, Dinah makes fast work both of fetching her keys from the outer pocket of her suit jacket and unlocking the door. Once inside the apartment she has shared with Laurel for almost three years now, she tosses the keys in the little ceramic bowl kept on top of a coat wrack just inside for that exact purpose. Upon surveying the living room, she expects to find Laurel on the couch reading a book while nursing a glass of red wine or watching MMA or British Soap Operas. Her brows furrow in disappointment upon finding the living room conspicuously vacant. A cursory glance around the rest of the apartment reveals their bedroom door is open, lights off inside, with a soft blue light flickering in the darkness indicating the room is occupied.

Worry blossoms unbidden in the back of Dinah’s mind. Why hadn’t Laurel waited up on her as she normally would? And why was she sequestered in their bedroom with the lights off doing God knows what? All sorts of scenarios to explain the oddities fill the void of uncertainty. _Is she sick? Did something bad happen today? Is she in one of her depressive spells?_ Unable to curtail her anxiety, especially over the last possibility, Dinah hastily toes her heels off, removes her jacket and belt, then loosens her tie enough that she can easily slip it over her head without having to retie it. Freed of those restrictive items, she untucks her button up shirt and deposits the jacket, belt, and tie on the back of the couch on her way to the bedroom. She’ll tidy up in the morning. Right now, checking on Laurel is her number one priority.

Arriving at the door, Dinah pauses, bracing for the worst. Muffled, hiccuping sobs from within send her heart plummeting directly into her boots. Few things in this world are capable of making Laurel Lance cry, most of which are not good at all.

_Oh, God. Something_ _is actually_ _wrong._

Rather than burst in and risk scaring and further upsetting Laurel, she first peeks around the door frame only to be surprised, and immensely relieved, to find her worries were completely unfounded. Instead of being curled up in a ball under the covers and an oppressive cloud of sadness, Laurel is propped against the headboard in her pajamas with her MacBook resting upon a pillow in her lap. Dinah can tell from the reflection in her black-framed glasses that she is watching a video that is evidently the cause of her currently overflowing emotions. Annoyingly, Laurel is wearing headphones or else Dinah might be able to ascertain the root of Laurel’s abnormal weepiness.

It is to the backdrop of Laurel sniffling around a plaintive almost mewling cry that she finally steps into the bedroom. Bloodshot green eyes dart in her direction that tell the tale of a woman whose heart has not been touched by anguish but by something beautiful, something magical, something angelic. Or rather someone.

Realization dawns on Dinah within seconds and she heaves a dramatic sigh.

“Are you watching Dimash videos again?” she asks, unable to hide the hint of humor in her voice.

Ever since Laurel discovered the astounding Kazahk singer, she has been spiraling down a rabbit hole of obsession that is predominantly adorable. She even joined the official fan club! And bought them tickets to a concert in LA next three months from now. Hell, she even ordered a Dears coffee mug and an “ _I Heart Dimash_ ” t-shirt that she wears in public! Often!

Frankly Dinah would have been worried about the fanaticism if Laurel wasn’t singing around the house more than she ever has, the sound of which fills Dinah with indescribable joy. Or if she wasn’t halfway on the bandwagon herself. Popera is not her cup of tea, but hot damn that kid can sing. And his stage presence…? Jesus. Simply unreal.

Eyes still streaming tears, hand covering her mouth to contain the cutest little squeaks, Laurel can only nod in response to the question. The sight of her so affected by the purity and passion behind the music melts away any remaining tension from Dinah’s frame.

Needing to be close to Laurel, she pushes away from the door and pads in the direction of their bed. After making her way over, she perches on the side close enough to easily reach Laurel.

“Babe,” she says, reaching out to brush the tears from Laurel’s damp, flushed cheeks. “I know you love him. But why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“I can’t help it. Just look at him, Dinah,” Laurel replies, pointing animatedly at the screen. Dropping her hand between them, Dinah follows a slender finger to the screen where Dimash, resplendent in a sharp tuxedo, is totally owning the stage and the crowd like he was born for it. She recognizes the performance instantly as one of her personal favorites. “He’s an angel. An actual fucking real life angel come down to earth. And then he opens his mouth and the literal sounds of heaven come out. I just...I just can’t….”

In her peripheral vision, Dinah catches the moment Dimash explodes into a segment where he belts with all the gusto and passion of Pavarotti. Almost immediately Laurel dissolves into another round of overwhelmed tears.

Dinah chuckles, slightly amused and entirely besotted. To offer some comfort she knows will be appreciated, she slides further up on the bed and arranges herself so that Laurel can tuck into her side.

“C’mere,” she says, patting her lap to give an invitation that is not refused. After pausing the video, Laurel scoots over until she is halfway in Dinah’s lap, reclining against her chest, head resting against Dinah’s shoulder. Once she is all settled in and both of them are comfy, Dinah nabs one of the earbuds from Laurel’s ear and sticks it into hers before looping an arm around her trembling fiancee. She pulls Laurel tight against her for good measure and then presses a kiss into her hair.

“Now then. We can watch the rest together. And maybe a few more after if that’s alright with you?” A dimpled smile is her reward.

“More than okay. Love you,” Laurel says, then tilts her head to press a sweet kiss to Dinah’s lips before returning her attention to the MacBook and Dimash.

A press of a button later, rich baritone crooning in Russian tickles Dinah’s ears. Her eyes slide shut involuntarily as the melody washes over her and the otherworldly tone of Dimash’s singing transports her into a realm of pure aural bliss. All too soon she becomes lost in a haze of profound musical magnificence that reminds her there is beauty in the world worth appreciating, worth savoring, worth sharing with the person she loves above all else. So that’s precisely what she does.

And what do you know. By the time the song is over, Dinah is crying, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame this on me recently discovering a certain singer from Kazahkstan who abso-fucking-lutely blew me away. Like, seriously. I wanted to stop singing forever when I heard him for the first time. And then I just wanted more and more and more. He is…transcendent. And I love him. And if you are a fan of singing in general, do yourself a favor and dive down the rabbit hole that is Dimash Kudaibergen videos on YouTube. You can thank me later.


	7. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My take on Laurel/Dinah post-Star City Slayer. Does not follow canon because, let's face it, canon is shit. Arrow writers/producers, especially Uncle Guggie and his crew of Green Arrow and Black Canary legacy manglers, the middle finger I'm holding up right now is for you. Fuck you all. Oliver Queen and Dinah Laurel Lance both deserved better. Yes, I am bitter. Sue me. xD

Dinah wakes with a startled gasp from a dreamless sleep. Instantly popping up to a seated position from where she'd been laying on her back, she frantically surveys the inky darkness of her bedroom. Instincts firmly in the driver's seat, her heart hammers a frenzied staccato rhythm against her sternum. Upon finding no visible sources of danger in the immediate vicinity, she strains her ears to listen for further evidence of whatever something or someone had quite literally gone bump in the night. Again when no signs of an intruder are evident, her panic-fueled hyper-awareness dissolves into pure frustration. For the first time since _the incident_ , she had been sleeping soundly without a trace of the pestering nightmares that play behind her eyes every time she succumbs to exhaustion.

 _Probably that damn alley cat again._ Growling irritably, she flops back down against her plush mattress, determined to salvage the night if at all possible. Tomorrow morning, she will deal with the pesky stray that has been poking around her place the past few months. Shouldn't be too much trouble to set up a trap and then call the pound to deport the striped, four-legged annoyance from her premises.

Thanking God for finally deciding to cut her a break, it doesn't take long – perhaps a minute or two – before her eyelids begin to grow delightfully heavy again. A weary smile stretching her lips, she wiggles happily against the mattress and digs her head into her pillow in anticipation of some long overdue rest. She is just about under for the second time when she hears it again.

_*Thump*_

Her previous frustration returns with a gusto, and being already primed from the previous interruption rapidly accelerates into anger as she throws the covers aside and slides out of bed. Operating on autopilot, she snatches her gun out of her nightstand and then pads barefoot through her room as quietly as possible so as to not scare the damn cat away before she can at least get off a shot. She will gladly navigate the radioactive professional fallout of discharging her weapon in the middle of the night against a harmless, mangy furball if it means that she doesn't have to do this again tomorrow.

Upon reaching the door, she toes on her slippers and steadies her gait. Her pulse thrums in her veins, overeager as she is to have a go at the malicious, runty little mongrel that keeps rooting through her trash and leaving bloated dead mice at her door. But just as she grasps the door handle, she hears another sound that stops her cold – a distinctly human sound that emanates from just outside her front door.

Alone in the dark, her throat tightens painfully as she is suddenly transported to another time and place, a warped repository of one man's psychotic obsession with Oliver Queen in which she almost met an ignoble death. All of its own accord, her free hand idly comes up to brush against the ugly scar marking where Stanley Dover gave her a grisly alternative grin. Heart thudding manically in her chest, she brings her gun up to chest level at the door as she slowly and resolutely takes the final steps toward the thin threshold separating her from what may very well be her doom.

Terrified though she may be, Dinah is equally stubborn and unwilling to let fear dictate her actions.

Once close enough to grasp the door handle, she risks peering through the curtains for a glimpse at the potential perp. All she can make out through the glass and low light of the alleyway are abstract shadows and the vague shape of her neighbor's lamp blazing through their unobstructed window. Another thump just as she replaces the curtains scares her so badly she wrenches backward as her fingers tighten around the grip of her gun and her finger settles unsteadily over the trigger. Steeling herself for an invasion, she braces against a second attempt on her life in as many months.

All at once, time slows down to a torturous crawl. Her pulse rings in her ears, deafening and maddening and distracting as sweat beads at her temples and dampens her palms. The world narrows into a pinprick field of view, reduced down to the six feet between her and whatever boogeyman might be lurking just outside her home. Nothing happens for the longest time. Everything is silent save for the cacophonous drumming of her heartbeat against her rib cage and the slight metallic rattle of the gun in her tremulous hand. The moment is so unbearably fraught with danger and laden with sickly fear that she feels like she is about to crawl out of her skin.

And then, when she least expects it, she hears something that makes her blood run cold for a completely different reason than before.

" _Please, no! Don't. Not her...please, no!_ "

The slurred, delirious, plaintive pleas are uttered loudly enough that Dinah can hear them distinctly. Instantly her terror subsides only to be replaced with a coil of dread that turns her stomach sour.

As a cop who has been involved in her fair share of fatal shoot outs and witnessed the aftermath of senseless tragedy, she recognizes the sound of a human heart breaking. She relaxes, if only somewhat marginally. If anything whoever is currently outside her door more resembles a wounded animal uttering pathetic death whines than an ax murderer on the prowl or a thief surveying a mark or a miscreant hoodlum skulking about for some innocent soul to terrorize.

Still, she can't help but conjure up scenarios as to what she may encounter just outside. Once when she was a beat cop, she was the unlucky first responder to a fatal domestic rampage and had to forcibly drag a mother half-mad with grief from the bodies of her young daughter and the mentally unstable partner that killed the girl and herself right in front of the poor woman. If anything like that awaits her tonight, she would really rather stay inside. Introducing herself to a reality which might shatter what's left of her already fractured psyche does not seem like a wise course of action at present.

A heartbeat later, she hears the noise that woke her again followed by a strangled cry, neither of which she can ignore if wants to retain any semblance of her pride. Cowering behind her front door may be the smart choice, but is not one she would ordinarily make. Dinah has always been a fighter, has always confronted her demons head on rather than let them dictate her actions. It's the only way she knows how to cope, and she's not about to go changing now just because some psychopath almost halfway cut her head off.

Screwing up her courage, she quickly throws the door open and immediately swings right toward the street the alleyway empties into. Expecting to be greeted by some gruesome scene out of a horror movie, she is instead surprised to find nothing but the empty alleyway between her building and the neighboring complex. Her brows furrow until deeply ridged as she peers down the length of the alley toward the street, gun aimed as she assesses her situation as trained by the US Government. Poorly lit by the handful of ancient outdoor lights bolted in to the building's exterior, she can't make out every detail, but she can certainly see enough to recognize there is no evidence of anyone or anything having been in the vicinity. The absence of such evidence naturally leads her to question her sanity.

Had she imagined it all? Was she really still so spooked by what Stanley Dover did to her that she is overreacting to the most minuscule of stimuli? Or could it be that she is still caught in the grips of some bizarre, hyper-realistic dream? To find out, she pinches her hand as hard as she can and winces upon learning that she is indeed awake.

Seeing as she is not imagining things and that she had most definitely heard an unarguably human voice, she settles in against the door frame with her gun steadied and aimed in the direction of the alley inlet. After drawing in a steadying breath, she waits.

Just when she is about to give up and turn back inside, a tormented moan from behind reassures her that she is not going crazy after all while also startling her so badly she literally jumps. Startled out of her wits, Dinah whirls around with her gun raised only to discover the lanky form of a woman sprawled on the ground less than five feet away. Like a disoriented boot straight out of high school, she had forgotten to clear her nine o'clock – an unforgivable mistake that could so easily have gotten her killed.

Berating herself for the uncharacteristic misstep, Dinah steps toward the inert form to investigate. With her back pressed against the brick siding and her head turned so that Dinah cannot see it, it is impossible to make a positive identification, not that she requires one to know who this is. The black boots, dark jeans, black leather jacket, mile long legs and curtain of golden hair are a dead giveaway.

Dinah gasps as recognition dawns. "Laurel?"

Receiving no response from her breathy query, she carefully shuffles over and gingerly crouches next to the currently comatose District Attorney of Star City. A quick tuck of honey blonde hair behind an ear sporting a plethora of piercings confirms that her nocturnal visitor is none other than Laurel Lance in the flesh.

Of all the people to find in such at state at this hour, Laurel would have been the last on Dinah's list.

Whatever mysterious reason behind her presence, Dinah has only ever seen the woman as rumpled and anguished in the days following Quentin Lance's death. A pang of sympathy stirs her heart like it always does when she thinks of Laurel's numerous losses.

What Dinah knows of Laurel's past is stocked by a gallery of ghosts stretching all the way back to before she was forming permanent memories, from her mother who died when she was still a baby to her Oliver whose premature demise was the impetus for her having uprooted from her Star City in a futile bid to obtain a fresh start. Each death left behind a brand new section of scar tissue that accumulated until eventually engulfing the entirety of her heart. Not long after, Black Siren was born.

Having experienced the bitter draught of loss herself, Dinah has often wondered how the woman did not go completely bonkers after burying in the span of thirty-two years a total of three parents, an unborn baby sister, two foster siblings before she graduated high school, four close college buddies in a single day, a surrogate father, and the love of her life _and then_ on top of all that was turned into a metahuman by a freakish explosion only to be captured and experimented on for number of years before a homicidal maniac finally set her free. Had Dinah been subjected to half of those traumas, she thinks she might have been damaged enough to lose the will to live and soon thereafter swallowed a bottle full of sleeping pills or the barrel of the closest firearm she could get her hands on.

 _Not Laurel, though,_ she thinks as she slowly and lightly smooths her fingers through the soft hair at Laurel's temple. _She is unbreakable. Indomitable. A warrior. A survivor through and through. A headstrong, feisty, relentless boss bitch who would fight her way through hell just to spit in the devil's face._

That thought turns Dinah's expression into one of tender fondness as a smile curls her lips. Quietly she studies features so fine and elegant and lovely that were carved as if solely to grace the covers of fashion magazines. Caught up in her languid perusal, she soon finds herself slipping from the adrenaline rush of a life or death situation straight into the waiting arms of a helpless and hopeless crush that has developed over the past few months.

Had someone told her a year ago that she would feel this way about Laurel or that she would be slowly introduced to a different side of the prickly blonde that was kind, considerate, sweet, hilarious, and devastatingly charming, she would have laughed that fool to scorn. And yet over the past several weeks she has discovered all of the above to be true. And more.

Since returning from DC, Laurel has almost daily visited Dinah bearing gifts of lunch, or coffee from their favorite joint between the station and courthouse, or dinner and a corny movie they would watch while eating on the couch like old friends. At first Laurel's persistence was beyond annoying, but as the days rolled into a weeks Dinah began to look forward to her frequent drop-ins. The incrementally unguarded version of Laurel she has become acquainted with over this period is every bit as complicated as could have predicted. She is entertaining but moody; her sarcasm is as boundless as her productive energy; she has a thirst for knowledge that is only rivaled by her passion for martial arts; she is a rabid fan of the Seattle Seahawks who yells at players, coaches, and referees and throws popcorn at the TV while they watch games together; she has an attention to detail that impresses the hell out of Dinah when it isn't being used against her; and most importantly she is the unique brand of friend Dinah never knew she so desperately needed.

This new dynamic they were building, peculiar as it seems considering their messy history, has been one of the few bright spots of Dinah's short convalescence and subsequent readjustment to life after a highly traumatic injury. Whether at work slaving over reports or lounging at home being a total potato, Laurel turning up unannounced is always the highlight of her day. None of her other friends ever made her feel as appreciated and understood as Laurel does or ever made her laugh until her belly ached like Laurel does when she launches into one of her comical – and lengthy – diatribes about Super Bowl XL being rigged in favor of the hated Pittsburgh Steelers. Not even Vinny, as much as she loved him and painful though it is to admit, could warm her up from the inside out like Laurel's honey-smooth voice does when it wraps so melodically around her name.

Honestly, that last realization was like a slap her in the face that woke her up to how rapidly evolving their relationship was. In less than six weeks, they have gone from respectful acquaintances to friends to something...more. And scary as the breakneck tempo of that progression is, Dinah has been sorely tempted of late to throw caution to the wind in an effort to define just what that something more is. The sole impediment to taking that plunge is her own fear of what might happen if either or both of them screw it up.

Still idly toying with silken strands of golden hair, Dinah is too wrapped up in her own musings to notice that Laurel is beginning to stir. A prolonged groan at last alerts her to the change, and she breaks out of her own thoughts just time to watch Laurel's face scrunch up in complaint over her awkward position.

"God. What the hell…?" Laurel slurs as her eyes begin to flutter open. They immediately widen when she realizes what happened. "Shit. I fell asleep."

Dinah cocks her head in amusement. "That you did. Not in the most comfortable spot, either."

Laurel has the grace to blush at the heavy subtext applied to Dinah's comment. They are both aware she has a perfectly luxurious bed back at her apartment she could have crawled into instead of passing out on the cold, hard asphalt.

"I can explain..."

"Not here," Dinah interrupts, then pushes off her haunches to stand. Once upright, she offers Laurel her hand. "Come on. Let's go inside. There's no sense in you staying out here the rest of the night and it's too late for you to go home."

Taking the hand, Laurel allows Dinah to help her to her feet. "If you're sure," she replies, brushing loose gravel off the seat of her extremely tight jeans, an action that draws Dinah's gaze southward to a shapely rump her hands suddenly and inexplicably itch to explore. "I don't want to inconvenience you."

Hastily averting her eyes from Laurel's ass lest she get caught letching, Dinah crosses her arms over her chest and funnels her embarrassment into faux irritation. "Probably should have thought about that before falling asleep outside my door. You were having a nightmare or something. Your thrashing against the side of the house woke me up."

Laurel winces apologetically. "Sorry."

Swiftly deflating in the face of Laurel's chagrin, Dinah shrugs neutrally. "It's fine. No big deal." The falsehood slips free so easily it causes her to wonder when it became acceptable behavior for her to lie to make Laurel feel better. _Probably about the same time you developed this silly little crush._ Frustration mounting at her inability to curtail these surging feelings, she turns wordlessly to the door then starts back inside. When she senses Laurel hesitate to follow, she pauses in the doorway and sighs dramatically. "Oh, for God's sake, woman. Don't be difficult. It's too cold and late for me to deal with your stubborn ass. Just come in already before I actually get upset." When Laurel obeys, duly chastised, Dinah leads her into the living room where she plops down onto her couch before patting the cushion next to her. "Sit."

This time Laurel does at Dinah says without argument. "I'm really am sorry I woke you," she tells Dinah a bit later once they are both settled in and getting warmed up under a couple of fluffy throw blankets, Dinah beneath her well-worn red one while Laurel wraps herself in the one sporting the Seahawks logo that she brought over for their recently ritualistic Sunday afternoon football watching. Wearing a guilty expression, her shoulders draw in tight. "I didn't mean to. Or to fall asleep like that. Guess I was more tired than I thought."

"Never mind that," Dinah replies with a wave of the hand she'd left uncovered. "I'm more interested what you're doing here in the first place. In the middle of the night. Halfway across town from your apartment."

The blush Laurel answers with betrays how humiliated she is at being caught in such a state. Dinah is a bit perturbed at the thought that zips through her brain right then that Laurel has the perhaps the most adorable blush she's ever seen and ought to wear it more often. It is followed by a brief internal freak out seeing as now is so not the time for her crush to once again take charge of her brain.

Sadly, having noticed her staring, Laurel then begins to worry her bottom lip, causing Dinah's eyes to instinctively flick downward. Mesmerized by the motion, she marvels at how full and pretty and symmetrical Laurel's lips are, and wonders for a split second whether they feel and taste as soft and delicious as they appear. Unbidden, Dinah's heart rate begins to accelerate as her chest and neck rapidly start to flush.

A second later, the biological basis behind her strong reaction becomes glaringly apparent: that this is no simple crush. _Oh, God. Oh, God. Stop it right now. I'm not ready for this. Hell, I'm not even sure this is real or if it's just me assigning false meaning to how grateful I am to have her in my life. I mean, I haven't felt that way for a woman since college. And this is not just any woman. This is Laurel Fucking Lance!_

And yet as it ever is when Laurel's beauty bewitches her, the proof is all too evident. From her throbbing pulse to the pool of warmth spreading from her chest into her lower belly, it is becoming increasingly clear that the experimental phase she went through like many other a normal university aged female may not have been a phase after all.

Since Alanna Chambler, she has indulged a few minor crushes, but that's all she thought they were. Innocent crushes. Simple admiration for the human aesthetic that any sane individual would objectively appreciate, of which Laurel is a preeminent example.

Could it be possible that she was wrong to assume that's all it was? That there was something deeper at play behind her noticing how stupidly pretty some girls like Laurel are? Something she refused to acknowledge way back when because the fallout from her breakup with Alanna was an unmitigated disaster that may have scared her straight, so to speak? The possibility is intriguing. And terrifying.

So as not to scare the hell out of Laurel, or make a scene that will mortify her for weeks, Dinah quickly clears her throat and schools her features.

"That's fair, I guess," says Laurel after a tense moment of them staring at one another with muddled degrees of curiosity, apprehension, and awkwardness. "I won't bore you with a sob story as to the reasons, but I don't sleep much normally, and since I heard what happened to you even less." Pausing a beat, her eyes take on a liquid quality that causes a tight lump to form in Dinah's throat. "I wasn't here when you needed me. Instead, I was across the country at a stupid conference I could have easily ducked out of if I really wanted. While I was listening to some decrepit old hag prattle endlessly about how arcane certain statute of limitations rules are, you were bleeding out in a psychopath's basement. Had it not been for Curtis, you would be dead. And that... _haunts_ me." A shaky breath later, she adds, "I should have been here and I wasn't and I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for that."

 _How long has she been holding this in? And why hasn't she told me until now when she's had plenty of opportunity?_ Dinah wonders, and for unknown reasons is suddenly compelled to reaches out for Laurel's trembling hand. She experiences a foreign but intense relief when her gesture is not immediately spurned.

"Oh, Laurel..."

"I know it's bizarre and inexplicable and idiotic to blame myself for something totally out of my control," Laurel interrupts, clearly frustrated with herself for a variety of reasons Dinah can probably guess at with a modest degree of accuracy. "Lately I find myself being idiotic about a lot of shit and taking way too much interest in things I shouldn't. Like, I can't stop mother-henning Felicity over her pregnancy. And I've been irrationally obsessing over what happened to you, and that is just not like me. I don't know why I'm so..."

Trailing off with an anxious sigh, she runs a shaky hand through her long blonde tresses. "Look, I don't really understand what the hell is going on myself. As for why I'm here tonight? I just...the thought of you being back home after what that fucking piece of shit did to you was hard enough when Ollie was arranging an around the clock protection detail. Now that the detail is off, I should be relieved. But I'm not. I tossed and turned all night last night. Same thing tonight. I couldn't stop running ridiculous scenarios my head. Like what if that sicko bastard somehow managed to get out? I mean, he did it once, albeit with Oliver's help. Stands to reason he could do it again if the circumstances were right. Slabside security leaves a lot to be desired, you know, so that is not out of the realm of feasibility. I..." she sighs, scrubs a hand wearily over her face, and seems to crumple inwards as if the pressure she has been laboring under lately has finally exceeding her limit. "Believe me, I wish I had an acceptable answer for you beyond me being totally irrational. I just don't."

Stunned by that outpouring, and more than a little touched, Dinah stares at an increasingly uncomfortable Laurel, who fidgets with every passing second as she was scrutinized. A moment later she groans in dismay. "God. You think I've gone nuts, don't you?"

That snaps Dinah out of her stupor. Brow crinkling, she shakes her head fervently. "No. Not at all. Just...I'm surprised is all. I mean, given our history I wasn't expecting you to ever care about my well-being as anything more than an occasional co-conspirator in one of Felicity's schemes, let alone become friends like we have recently. Forgive me if I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around you caring _so much_ that you are actually losing sleep over me."

Though Laurel does chuckle a bit at the mention of their shared tendency to enable Felicity's fiercely adventurous spirit, the lighthearted moment passes all too quickly as a second rosy blush colors her cheeks. Averting her gaze to study the backs of her hands, she shrugs, unsuccessfully attempting nonchalance.

"Believe it or not, this isn't the first time I've lost sleep over you. When we first met, you were the only person who didn't look at me like everybody else on this Earth did, as if I was a tool to be used or some twisted, sickening cosmic joke being played upon them because of the face I wear and the body I inhabit. In your eyes, I was only ever just _me_ because you had never met _her_ , and I really liked how that felt even if you didn't like me very much _._ Also, you gave as good as you got, which was a nice change of pace from your comrades, who always held back when they fought me, though I'm sure they'd insist otherwise. And maybe it's just my imagination running wild, but I've always felt there has was a strangely exciting spark between us. Maybe that's why, quite against my will, I found myself respecting you." Worrying her hands together, she smiles ruefully. "I used to lie awake for hours replaying our interactions on a loop in my head, you know? For lack of a better term I was..." she flails her arms a little here, "fascinated with you. Still am. Although I can see how you wouldn't know any of that considering my stunted ability to express myself with my words instead of my fists."

Ignoring for a moment how she had no idea Laurel felt this way, and how special knowing she does makes her feel, Dinah nudges Laurel's shoulder with hers, sporting a playful smirk. "Which you're getting better at, by the way. I was really proud of you for not decking Rene yesterday when he implied you were secretly pleased about what happened to me. That I lost my Canary Cry. I know you wanted to."

To be frank, Dinah did, too. Rene was perfectly aware the subject was a sore one for her. Literally and figuratively. Her throat still aches like a bitch from all the repair work doctors had to do to shore up Curtis's emergency field cauterization. Learning that the damage to her vocal chords will likely prevent her from every being able to use her meta ability was the pouring of proverbial salt upon the still gaping wound. There have been so many times she's saved lives or prevented catastrophe with her Cry. It's become part of who she is. That she'll never get to experience it again has left her with an ever-present ache she can't help but compare to having lost a limb.

What's worse, she'll never be able to sing again, either, at least not at full tilt for more than a few seconds. Even at moderate volumes, it will likely be uncomfortable and unsustainable, not to mention that she might never be able to pitch correctly again. Although she doesn't have the greatest voice in the world, some of her fondest memories of her childhood involve her mother singing her to sleep, and they are so precious to her that she has fantasized often about doing the same for her own children. Now, if by some miracle she finds love again and marries, she might never get to realize that dream. Those compounding losses are so unfair, so frustrating, so enraging, and so very depressing that even minor dwelling upon them eventually leads to tears.

Rene should have known better than to use them as a weapon against Laurel. Not only does he know how deeply she disapproves of his continually shitty attitude toward the reforming Black Siren but he should at minimum respect her enough to never indulge his issues with Laurel at her expense. Sometimes his tactless cruelty leads her to wonder why she still calls him a friend when for Dinah's sake Laurel is nearly always more cordial to him than he is to her – at least at first. Those two can't be in a room for more than five minutes without their acerbic sniping turning into clenched fists and flared nostrils.

Laurel frowns deeply at the reminder of that unpleasant encounter. "Wasn't easy. I can't believe he had the gall to suggest I gave a shit about me being the only one who can do that now. Maybe a year ago, that would mean something to me. But now? If I could, I would give my ability to you. You deserve it so much more than I do after all I've done. In retrospect I can see that it's brought me nothing but grief and regret."

The haunted quality of Laurel's eyes tells Dinah she is regressing into the vast vault of horrible memories that are stored inside that brilliant mind. Memories of all the lives, innocent and otherwise, she took using her Cry. Of the years she refuses to elaborate upon in which she was regularly experimented upon in a government facility solely because she was one of the most powerful metahumans alive on an Earth that openly persecuted them. Of the day she got that ability, doubtless experiencing something unimaginable.

Sometimes when Dinah thinks about how she screamed in anguish as Sonus shot Vinny right in front of her, she inadvertently draws parallels to how Laurel received her _gift_. None of the scenarios she has conjured up offer any comfort to a conscience riddled by guilt over her having refused to sympathize with her fellow metahuman when they first met. Who knows, maybe if she'd tried, Laurel might have responded to her overtures seeing as they have common ground upon which to stand. Unlikely as that outcome would have been, she still should have _tried_. They have the exact same ability – granted Laurel's is far stronger and her control of it significantly more advanced; _how the hell does she do that thing where she blows a kiss and emits a sonic wave strong enough to knock a grown man on his ass?_ – which means that their origin point has to be eerily similar. If nothing else that alone would have provided the basis to form a tentative rapport.

But Dinah hadn't extended the proverbial olive branch, nary even a twig at that, leaving her to wonder what happened to transform Laurel into the infamous Black Siren. Had she lost someone she loved dearly on that fateful day as well? Was she involved in an accident that subjected her to unbearable pain? Or was something far worse occuring, something so horrific as to produce the sort of shrill banshee wail Black Siren became famous for?

The latter possibility never fails to send a shiver of revulsion down Dinah's spine. If... _that_ … _._ did happen to Laurel as she was being bombarded by dark matter, she isn't sure she wants to ever hear about it. The mere ambient suggestion of Laurel enduring something so vile is sufficient to make her sick at her stomach, never mind being regaled with the visceral details. Thankfully Laurel seems equally as determined to not talk about that day, which is an arrangement Dinah is more than happy to keep for the foreseeable future.

Whatever went down to give Laurel her ability, there is no arguing that it is the sole factor to which her presence on Earth-1 can be attributed. It was for her meta ability alone that Zolomon rescued her, recruited her into his employ, and then transported her here to facilitate his evil schemes, and as rocky as the road has been between then and now for Laurel, Dinah cannot say she's sorry that any of it happened. The very idea of not having Laurel in her life just seems so... _wrong_.

"Not always, it hasn't," she replies, unfurling from her blanket so she can take Laurel's hand. The gesture produces the intended effect of drawing Laurel away from the self-imposed hell that is her memories. Smiling gently, she adds, "I get why you might feel that way, but try and remember that if nothing else, it's the reason you're not still locked up in that hellhole Zoom sprung you from on your Earth. And for what it's worth, I'm glad you're here. With me."

"You are?" Laurel asks, looking slightly awed at Dinah's optimistic perspective.

"I am. Doubly so actually." As she responds, Dinah reassuringly rubs her thumb along the back of Laurel's hand. "You may have scared the hell out of me, but I'm really glad you're here tonight, too."

Something happens to Laurel's face then that Dinah has only ever heard about from Felicity. Blinking against the tears gathering, her lips curl up slightly and then pause a split second before spreading further into a soft smile that teases her incredible dimples, causes her eyes to shine and makes her entire being glow as if she is illuminated by an internal light that is unveiled at just enough wattage to convey how touched she is. What makes it even better – or worse depending upon the perspective – is that Laurel's expression is screaming at Dinah that she would like very much to throw caution to the wind, lean in and close the short distance between their bodies until they are breathing each other's air, and then plunge straight off the deep end to consummate the budding attraction that has been building between them until the tension has grown unbearable.

Not for the first time of late, Dinah feels a very familiar tug at her heartstrings. There aren't any other smiles in the world that can do to her what Laurel's does. And like this, with so much raw emotion behind it? Ordinarily it is difficult for her to deny Laurel anything when confronted by one of those gorgeous smiles, but this is just taking it too far. There's isn't much she wouldn't do right now if Laurel asked, even risk their fragile friendship to find out if those lips of hers taste as yummy as they look.

Amazing as this feeling is, she is not all prepared to give in. Not yet anyway, 'cause once she does, she knows it's all over. There won't be any going back for her as she is not the type to cautiously wade in to a relationship, preferring instead to dive headfirst into the deep end, and she gets the same impression from Laurel.

Clearing her throat breaks the moment, and Dinah is a little sad and quite a bit relieved to see Laurel's demeanor abruptly shift back into safer waters. "And hey," she says, hoping to assuage the tint of hurt in Laurel's eyes, "since we're being honest with each other, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to admit I was a little bit scared when I crawled into bed knowing I didn't have the crutch of a protection detail camped outside my place. First time that's happened since I was stupid ten year old who thought she was the bravest girl in the world only to discover she wasn't by a long shot after she watched Nightmare on Elm Street before bed."

Laurel's nose crinkles at the last part of the confession. " _Oof_. If that is the same thing as it was on my Earth, not a wise decision."

Dinah chuckles wryly, in full agreement. "It certainly was not. Thankfully my Dad was a total softy for his little girl. He was so wrapped around my finger he stayed with me every night after until the fear abated."

"Well," Laurel nibbles her lip quickly, her expression going soft again, "I don't know many sane people who would describe me as a softy, and you are _far_ from a little girl. But there is perhaps a tiny chance that I may be slightly wrapped around your finger as well. Meaning if you want or need, I would be willing to, uh...you know." She gestures lamely, blushing yet again.

Overwhelmed, Dinah's eyes shimmer with gratitude at being privileged with a glimpse of the real Laurel. She figured out a while ago that Black Siren is merely a coat of armor Laurel wrapped herself in to protect her from a world she became convinced – and understandably so – was out to get her. Every now and then, when she's relaxed and in good spirits, the Laurel that once existed before being repeatedly traumatized and abused until transforming into a writhing black ball of hatred makes an appearance. Every time that happens, Dinah finds herself thinking the same thing she is right now, that she would like to spend a lot more time with this woman. A whole lot more. Because this is someone Dinah can feel unashamed about caring for. Someone she would not object being openly attracted to. Someone she might, if she was willing to peer closely enough into her wonderfully traitorous heart, already be falling for.

"Are you offering to stay the night to keep me safe, Ms. Lance?" she asks, hoping the answer is yes.

"I...I, uh, guess so." Laurel's initial spluttering is so cute, Dinah has to refrain from squealing like a pathetic, love-struck teenage. Sadly Laurel recovers her composure quickly. "I mean, yes, Captain Drake. I am."

Rather than fold like a cheap card, Dinah decides to attempt subtlety. " _Hmm_." Eyes narrowed, she taps her chin contemplatively. "Well, you're right that I'm not a little girl anymore. But..." she draws out the vowel to really sell it that is totally not a hairsbreadth away from begging Laurel to stay over and cuddle up behind her and hold her tight all night long, "I would be lying if I said I would mind the company."

Looking cautiously hopeful, Laurel quirks her head over to one side as she is so apt to do. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, then. I'll stay."

"Great!" Figuring it is way too soon for her to give in to the surprisingly powerful urge to invite Laurel into her bed, even if it is for innocent purposes, Dinah switches gears. "So...when I found you outside, you appeared to be having a bad dream. Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." The answer is expected. However, when Dinah starts to argue the case for sharing being healthy, Laurel shakes her head and physically draws herself up straighter as if gathering her courage. "But you know what? Maybe I should. If for no other reason than to honor the spirit of honesty we have going here."

"Who knows, it might help," Dinah says, hoping to encourage Laurel to trust her with whatever had caused her so much distress. "And I promise I won't judge."

As if preparing for battle, Laurel takes a deep bolstering breath and then exhales slowly before returning her focus to Dinah. "So, I'd just ask that you be patient with me. Okay? 'Cause I've never told anyone this before."

Dinah quickly her extends her agreement, not daring to do otherwise in her interest to learn more about this endlessly fascinating woman. Especially something that no one else knows. As unexpected as all of this is tonight, what is happening right now is of an importance that Dinah truly appreciates. Felicity has been the only person Laurel confided in up to this point. Being included in that exceedingly tight circle is a privilege she is not about to pass up.

"I was dreaming about someone. Someone important to me. Someone I lost back in Central City. I'm sure you figured out a long time ago that I lived there back on my Earth due to me being a meta." Dinah nods in the affirmative, recalling that her mental dossier on this Laurel Lance includes a stint residing in Dinah's old hometown and that it was there she received her meta powers. "What you don't know, nor does anyone else still living to my knowledge, is that while I was there I was not as...unattached...as I have led those who have inquired to believe." She grimaces. "Quentin once quizzed me about my life back there, and for the most part I was honest. Not about this, though. This I kept to myself because it hurts too much to even think about most days."

Swallowing thickly, Laurel briefly averts her gaze and when she turns it back up, there are tears born of tumultuous, raw emotion in her eyes. "I told him once that I never really held a real job before. And that was true in a sense. I don't really consider what I did in Central City a _real_ job." She smiles ruefully, her gaze turning wistful almost. "I actually used to be the staff singer at this little jazz club in the Lower West side. Place called Reno's. Ever go there?"

"Yes," Dinah replies, her voice rough with surprise and a bit of her own emotional response.

Reno's was her and Vinny's favorite bar back when they were embedded deep cover with Sonus' organization. They'd go there every Friday night to decompress after an excruciating week of living a lie in the most hostile work environment imaginable.

Jazz has always been Dinah's go-to coping mechanism for stress, and Reno's was the hottest spot in which to bask in the smoothest tones and most sultry melodies the genre had to offer. Their musicians were the best in the city, all self-taught virtuosos, and their singers skillful and soulful enough to rival Ella or Billie at their pinnacle. For Laurel to have been regularly employed there speaks to how talented she is. As far as Dinah is aware, the Reno's here never had a staff singer during her tenure with the CCPD.

"Ours never had a staff singer, though," she adds. "Reno liked to keep things fresh. He had a stable of singers that rotated through on a monthly basis."

"It was the same back on my Earth," Laurel says, fondness dripping through her tone. "When I first started there, I had auditioned like everyone else and expected to be part of the rotation. Which I was for the first couple of months. My gigs started selling out by the third. Reno liked to say my voice and presence were good enough to get me on any stage but my dimples were what conquered hearts and made fans empty their wallets. ' _I'm tellin' ya, girl, those things coulda made Paris turn away from Helen,_ ' he'd croon as he counted the cash in the till with a gleam in his eye." On queue those very dimples peek out through an intensifying smile, proving old Reno's point.

 _Those things really ought to be illegal,_ Dinah thinks. _Or reserved for me alone._ The possessive nature of that thought makes her flush with as equal measures of shame and excitement.

"Anyway," Laurel goes on, unaware of Dinah's internal conflict, "I only say that because that's where I met her."

Dinah's brows disappear into her hairline. "Her?"

"Does it really surprise you to discover I'm bisexual?" Laurel asks, lips teasing to one side. "A, This is 2019. B, I'm a Lance, so it's basically codified in my DNA. And C, I've been flirting with you pretty much non stop since the moment we met."

Dinah splutters a moment at that, her mind rewinding manically and then playing through all of their early interactions. In retrospect, it is easy to see that Laurel was, indeed, flirtatious virtually every time they interacted. It was only after Vinny's death that they turned vicious, and even then she thinks their unusual attraction probably exacerbated the meteoric descent toward outright hatred. Thin line and all that.

"When you put it that way, I guess it shouldn't," she says after recovering from the initial shock of Laurel so open admitting to her flirting.

"To be fair, I suppose I should give you the benefit of the doubt since your Laurel was not brave enough to admit she was every bit as bi as her sister. Before her death, she may have still been hung up on Ollie but she was also nursing quite the crush on Felicity." At Dinah's dumbfounded expression, Laurel chuckles. "It's true, by the way. I read her journals and shit – you know, to study up before officially replacing her at a professional capacity. Quentin gave them to me to boost my chances of a successful transition. Apparently bisexuality runs in the family. Shocker. An uncle on my Dad's side swung both ways as does my Mom, who dated a lady in grad school right before she met my dad. If your Laurel's information is reliable, which I assume it is what with her having been such a veritable bastion of virtue and honesty, we share that background."

"Wow." Flabbergasted, that is all Dinah says for several seconds before the reference to Sara catches up with her. "Speaking of Sara, does she know about any of this? I imagine she'd be really interested to learn something about her sister she might not have known about."

Settling back against the cushions, Laurel crosses her legs and hums affirmatively. "I told her last time she visited. I think it helped us bond to know I was more like her than _her_ Laurel, who hid from her sexuality instead of embracing it. Not that I'm casting stones here. She had her reasons for remaining in the closet, one of which was our distinct preference for men. Turns out our taste in women is very...specific."

Laurel pronounces that last word very deliberately and stares at Dinah pointedly as if to elaborate on precisely what type of woman she finds attractive. She doesn't want to think too long or hard about the ramifications if that statement is true. If she does, she might connect the nebulous dots to form a somewhat disturbing picture, one that might reveal if she'd met Earth-1 Laurel while she was still alive they would have gravitated toward one another the same way she has with this one and might even have eventually lead to a romantic entanglement that would have resulted in radical changes to the way their lives unfolded. That right there is a can of worms Dinah would prefer stayed permanently sealed lest she lose her damn mind.

"Actually, I'm the same. I think. Maybe," she answers Laurel after recovering from the brief mental trip Laurel's innuendo took her on. She scratches the back of her head, a mite nervous all of the sudden. "I'm not really sure. I've always been strongly attracted to men, but I did date a girl in college. I just..." she sighs, "when it ended, I wrote it off as an experiment because the breakup was bitter and ugly and I never wanted to go through that again. Now, I'm starting to rethink that assessment as a bit premature."

Laurel sits up straight, at full attention. "Oh, really? That is quite intriguing!" For a moment she looks like she wants to launch into an in-depth interrogation only to think better of it at the last second. "But as much as I'd love to pursue this line of conversation further, we're getting dangerously off topic."

Dinah sighs in relief and takes the proffered out. Things were getting way too serious way too fast for her liking. Ready as she is to admit she is attracted to Laurel, she is not ready to act on it. Yet.

"Agreed. By all means, please continue..."

After smoothing her hands down her jeans, Laurel launches back into her tale. "As I was saying, I met her at Reno's. She was a fairly regular customer, but she didn't catch one of my gigs until I was on staff because her work schedule didn't line up. That night, she approached me after the show and introduced herself. Asked me on a date right then and there. I couldn't say no. I was instantly smitten. Being around her felt so right, as if a long lost part of me finally slid into place. That, and she was..." Laurel draws in a breath, eyes sliding shut, "a force of nature, magnetic, witty, driven, intense, drop dead gorgeous, and so full of life and light that she illuminated everyone who came into contact with. Like a star that burned impossibly bright and drowned out all the others with her brilliance. We went on a date that very weekend. And another three days later. Pretty soon we were seeing each other every other day."

Pausing, her expression grows dreamy, whimsical almost, as if the memories have transported her to a time and place she might actually have been happy. A time before her life was shattered all over again, leaving her destitute and bitter, a woman spiraling out of control on her way to the bottom where Black Siren was eagerly waiting with arms wide open.

"God, Dinah. I fell in love so fast that I didn't even realize until I was already neck deep. She made me forget how broken I was. Made me want to live again. Made me want things I had given up on, like getting married and having babies and buying a house in the suburbs and adopting a dog and the whole nine yards. I hadn't wanted any of those things since Ollie died. Sometimes I think I may have even loved her more than I did him, which was scary as hell but a relief at the same time because she understood me like no one else ever has. She not only practiced a saintly level of patience with me but she embraced me for who I was and never once asked me to be somebody I wasn't. No one other than my father ever loved me so wholly and selflessly. So how could have said anything but yes when she asked me to marry her a year later? It was a no brainer, really. Best choice I ever made. And the worst."

Dinah feels awful for the surge of irrational jealousy that overtakes her at hearing some other woman besides her was the first to make Laurel feel that way. Hating herself for even entertaining such a notion, she quickly masters herself and focuses on the information being given to her, just like she was taught to while training to become a detective. From how Laurel's brief description practically gushed with praise, she can tell this woman was special.

"She sounds amazing," Dinah says, trying her best to be a supportive friend.

Laurel's wistful smile signals her confirmation. "She was. Every single day, she made me laugh and smile and never once made me feel like I was defective or like I didn't deserve her. She showered me with so much love I honestly felt like I was about to drown sometimes. And when I got panicky about that and would take off for a few days to sort through my baggage, she would always be waiting for me back home when I came to my senses. She was kind and passionate and strong, and while we were together, she wasn't just my lover and my best friend and my emotional rock. She was my _everything_."

Lips beginning to quiver, a solitary tear slips down Laurel's cheek as she ducks her head and tries to rein in her emotions that are clearly getting away from her.

"What happened to her?" Dinah coaxes gently, sensing a tragedy at the end of the story yet needing to know, even if she feels guilty about it putting Laurel through such an emotional ringer just to satisfy her fully invested curiosity.

When Laurel starts up the tale again, her tone is detached, as if she's had to separate herself from the memory in order to recall it without breaking down. Dinah feels like a heel for having cause it, and yet at the same time listens with rapt attention.

"The night the particle accelerator at S.T.A.R. Labs exploded, I got home early from work. That night was our anniversary, so Reno let me duck out right after my set 'cause I wanted to surprise her and, like virtually everybody else that met her, he had a huge soft spot with her name written all over it. On the way home, I picked up dinner from our favorite place and stopped to pick up candles and roses and chocolates at this kitschy little shop that catered to couples in the mood for romance. I was setting up the table when I got the call." Catching Dinah's gaze, Laurel smiles with a dark wryness that intensifies her guilt. "Just my luck, as I was being told my fiancee was shot to death on the job, I got hit with a wave of dark matter that turned my manic screaming into a superpower."

"Jesus, Laurel. That's awful. I'm so sorry."

There isn't much more Dinah can think to say about a horrible tale that frankly has her on the verge of crying herself. So they had both lost someone that night. Dinah a lover and Laurel a fiancee. With so little time to process this revelation, she can't figure out which of them had it worse.

At first blush, it would seem logical to believe Laurel was better off having not witnessed her fiancee's death. Dinah is not so sure that line of logic holds water, though, when she would not even be tempted to trade places. As bad as it was to watch Vinny die, twice, at least she was _with_ him; at least they were able to say their silent goodbyes through eye contact that communicated the undying devotion for one another that resided within their hearts; at least she had the closure of being with him in his final seconds, offering what strength she could as her love for him poured out in waves of tears and mewling sobs.

Laurel came home just like she did every other day, excited to share an anniversary with the woman she loved only to receive a phone call no one wants to get. She never got to say goodbye, never got to say I love you one last time, and had to hear from someone else how the person she was prepared to commit the rest of her life to died doing her job. Many may see that as preferable to being there when it happened, but not Dinah. To her, Laurel's was by far the worse fate.

Just as she is about to brave inquiring how it happened, something else occurs to her about the way Laurel worded a particular phrase. Like a search dog having picked up a scent, she follows the trail with blind determination.

Arms crossing defensively over her chest, she tilts away from Laurel and spears the blonde with a sharp glare. "Wait a sec. She was killed on the job? What exactly did she do?"

Confused, Laurel's brows furrow. "Uh...she was an undercover cop with the CCPD."

Dinah nearly launches out of her seat at that shocking tidbit of info. There weren't a lot of women working undercover with the CCPD during that time and most of them she knew personally. "Are you serious? What was her name?" Looking conflicted and pained, Laurel refuses to answer, which piques Dinah's curiosity. Other than the obvious, she gets the feeling there is something about this woman's identity causing Laurel to cling so doggedly to secrecy. The only reason she can think of is that Laurel wishes to spare her feelings. But why? The answer resonates so suddenly and heavily through her bones that she gasps aloud. "Laurel, did you know me? I mean, the Earth-2 version of me?" Still no answer. "Laurel?"

Stubbornly shaking her head, Laurel launches off the couch, arms wrapping around herself as she begins to pace. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I know I said I'd tell you, but I can't do this anymore. It's too painful. Losing her almost killed me."

 _I know how that feels,_ Dinah thinks. And just then something truly terrible then occurs to her that radically turns the conversation away from another even more startling revelation that might well have altered her entire perception of Laurel Lance had it been allowed to surface. It doesn't, though, because Dinah loses her grip on that thread as a surge of fury courses through her veins.

"Why did you lie to me?" she demands, thoughts spiraling back to not-so-distant past, to a visit from Laurel at her office at CCPD that contained an apology that served as the catalyst for their current, far more healthy relationship.

Frowning deepening into a scowl, Laurel stops pacing and glowers at her. "Excuse me?"

"You said once that you could only imagine how I felt when you killed Vinny." Dinah stands now, accusation as present in her tone as it is her posture. "If what you just told me is true, then you know _exactly_ how I felt. Were you just playing me back then to gain my sympathy?"

The unexpected course change punctuated by that harsh accusation sends Laurel reeling back a step. "What? No! I meant what I said. What happened to me was not the same as what I did to you."

"I fail to see how," Dinah shoots back obstinately, her anger having usurped all other concerns. Like an unforgivably stupid sap, she had fallen for the line and let Laurel into her life and into her heart on false pretenses.

Under attack, Laurel digs in her heels. Those intense green eyes flash with indignation. "Well, you should. My fiancee was killed by a heartless monster."

"And Vinny wasn't?" Dinah almost apologizes the second the barb leaves her mouth. Almost. She probably would have if the petty part of her was not fully in control and currently enjoying watching Laurel blanch as if stricken.

"Okay, wow. That hurt, even if I deserved it," Laurel replies in little more than a whisper. Her posture radiates unadulterated _hurt_. "But I swear to you, Dinah, my apology was genuine. I did not want to kill him."

That is the last thing Dinah wants to hear right now. Not when she is incensed by the sting of betrayal. And to think she had almost convinced herself she was over Vinny's death. The worst part is she doesn't know who to be more angry with right now for the deception, Laurel or herself. Unwilling to accept any blame for one of the most traumatic moments of her life, only one target remains at which she can direct her ire.

"Then why did you? Huh?!" she asks, aggressively stepping into Laurel's personal space. Way in the dark recesses of her mind, she knows this conversation has been a long time coming and their mutual avoidance of it is what led to this disastrous breakdown of what was otherwise a very pleasant – and enlightening – conversation. Too bad she doesn't care about that right now. All that matters in the moment is getting answers to questions that have been eating away at her for far too long.

"Why, Laurel?" she presses. "You say you didn't want to. You say you're sorry. If that's true, give me an actual answer that isn't some lame bullshit excuse to cover your sorry ass." No reply. "Answer me, dammit! You owe me that much!" Frustratingly, Laurel continues to remain mute, which essentially pushes Dinah over the edge. Laughing bitterly, her entire frame vibrating with barely restrained rage, she clenches her hands into fists at her sides. "God, you're such a lying cowa -"

"I didn't have a choice! Okay? I didn't!" Laurel's explosive interruption shocks Dinah into stunned silence. Taut as a rope pulled between two diesel trucks, she listens to the explanation that follows. "When Cayden told me not to make him doubt my loyalty that night, it wasn't an idle threat. He could have killed me on the spot with little to no warning. He had that power over me and we both knew it. So I did what I always do. I chose myself. I chose to live. I'm not proud of it, but there it is."

Pausing, visibly distraught, Laurel wraps her arms around herself as if in a desperate bid to keep from falling apart. She has never looked more vulnerable, more fragile, more unsure of herself and frightened of Dinah and close to utterly unraveling. The sight affects Dinah more than she would have liked, and she soon finds her anger uncoiling as Laurel grows increasingly emotional.

"I didn't want to kill Vinny, Dinah. I _liked_ him. Respected him, even," Laurel goes on, expression matching her tone, both _begging_ for Dinah to understand and to not hate her. Loathe as she is to admit it, Dinah is convinced that she is being honest. "He was the only person in that rag tag group of miscreants and degenerates that treated me like a human being with value. I guess it's because he was the only one of us with a halfway functioning conscience." Curling in on herself, Laurel takes a shuddering breath. "Just a second ago you were about to call me a coward. Well, you're right. I am. I am worthless coward and a horrible person who will always choose herself and nothing I do or say will ever change that."

Silence descends over them in the wake of an admission that rings to Dinah as patently false. Laurel has proven so many times over the past six months that she is anything but a coward incapable of meaningful change. Her most vocal detractors grudgingly admit she is a fair if not aggressive District Attorney, she has not once hurt an innocent during her extracurricular excursions to seek justice for her slain father, and she has even made friends who would be very upset with Dinah right now for causing her so much distress. Hell, Dinah is one of those friends, or thought she was anyway before tonight cast shade upon that assumption. If she was Laurel's friend would she been so quick to accuse Laurel of such an underhanded tactic as using Vinny's death to manipulate her?

Shame cascades in waves through Dinah's chest, drowning out every last stronghold of animosity bitterly clinging to the surface of her heart. It wouldn't take a detective to figure out how badly she just hurt Laurel, what with Laurel wearing her pain the same way a relentlessly browbeaten prisoner might heavy shackles. Unfortunately, Dinah's pride gets in the way of her issuing the apology dangling off the tip of her tongue. With neither willing to speak, the silence that stretches on until they have both wallowed in miserable, awkward discomfort for so long that it doesn't appear there is any salvaging what was once such a promising conversation.

Laurel is the one to break the stalemate when she sighs in defeat. Shoulders slumping, she glances toward the door then says, "I should go. Before I do, I have to tell you again how sorry I am. I am so sorry, Dinah. So very fucking sorry. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I was as brave as you. That I would have done the right thing. If I had, Vinny would still be here, you'd be happy, and Cayden would have killed me, meaning at long last my miserable existence would be over. I know that means nothing to you right now, but I hope some day it might. I'll let myself out."

Still stunted beyond the ability to respond, Dinah can only watch as Laurel rushes out the door and disappears into the night. Once the ability to function returns some minutes later, she shuffles over to the couch on shaky limbs, collapses heavily onto the welcoming cushions, and sits there numbly until the tears finally arrive. Besieged by so many emotions she cannot hope to begin sorting them out, she cries and cries until it feels like she has permanently exhausted the ability of her tear ducts to function.

Emotionally spent, she lays there wrapped up in her blanket and stares blankly at the wall, willing the oblivion of sleep to abduct her away from the sight seared into her imagination of the deceptively delicate flower that is Laurel Lance blooming right before her eyes only to immediately wilt under an onslaught of insensitive recrimination Dinah can scarcely believe came from her. Like a switch was flipped when her brain made that connection to Vinny, she had launched into attack mode and proceeded to mindlessly obliterate the remarkable progress she and Laurel had made tonight. For a while there she had felt so encouraged over the direction they were heading that she allowed herself to be swept away on wings of hope. What a fool she'd been! Now, only barren emptiness remains where once there was a verdant field lush with promise, and she has no one but herself to blame for the dramatic and pervasive wasting.

With no tears left to cry and nowhere to hide from her guilt and shame, Dinah remains motionless upon couch until long after the sun has once again arisen in the East. Those hours are some of the most lonely and wretched of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things. 1. I apologize if this was nonsensical garbage. It started out to be one thing and wound up totally different by the time I was done with the rough draft. Since then I've edited it a hundred times and am just sick of looking at it so was getting posted ready or not. 
> 
> 2\. I have a thing for Katie Cassidy's dimples. It may or may not be an obsession.


	8. I Walked With You Once Upon A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On another sleepless night, Laurel considers how lucky she is to have Dinah in her life.

Comfortably ensconced in a cocoon of Egyptian cotton, Laurel remains stubbornly awake. Just outside through the large single pane rectangular window inside her bedroom, she looks out over the city skyline, marveling at the way it cuts a jagged pattern into the backdrop of a clear night. Towering buildings dotted by hundreds of windows glow so brightly as to diminish the blanket of stars dotting the fathomless dark sky. Beneath this celestial canopy, denizens of all walks will be sharing in her present misfortune, unable to find restorative solace within the welcoming arms of a rest that is all too often frustratingly elusive.

One of the things she loves most about Star City is that, much like her recollection of New York, it is constantly bustling with life no matter the day or the hour. As someone who has chronic and thus far incurable insomnia, it is soothing to have a constant companion through her frequent restless vigils.

During the interminably long two years she spent locked up in that godforsaken A.R.G.U.S. detention facility a.k.a. metahuman torture camp back on her Earth, Laurel suffered through the long days and nights with nary a friend of convenience to talk to and nothing but her own thoughts to occupy her time. Left to dwell endlessly upon all of the tragedy and sorrow that had befallen her, she began to lose her increasingly fragile grip upon sanity. If Zoom hadn't intervened when he did, she might have soon deteriorated into a slavering, mindless ghoul absent of all human spark – nothing but wasted bones, washed out skin, matted winnowy hair, dull glassy eyes and a consciousness that had turned so far inward on itself that outward expression became impossible. When she got out, she went on week long bender without sleep, prowling the streets of Central City to avoid the loneliness and despair waiting on her back in the quaint digs her new boss provided. Amongst her fellow insomniacs, she felt less like the psychotic circus freak A.R.G.U.S. doctors and personnel insisted she was and more like a fellow aimless soul who slipped through the cracks of a pitiless existence. She belonged out there on the streets in a way she didn't anywhere else.

Sadly, while her post-release mania eventually mellowed out enough to resume a minimalist sleep schedule again, she has never regained the ability to remain under for more than two or three hours. Usually by then she's wrenching awake gasping for air, clawing frantically at some invisible enemy, or soaked through in a cold sweat having just relived in vivid detail one of her countless traumas. Not even relocating to another universe has helped ease the symptoms of her insomnia, which did not come as a shock. Laurel has long since given up hope ever sleeping like a marginally normal human being.

At least this Star City is a nice upgrade from hers, however, in that it still bustles with an irrepressible energy that has yet to be completely quenched. Oliver is largely to be thanked for that. His mission to save the soul of this troubled metropolis has succeeded where his father – well, his Earth-2 father anyway – so dismally failed. Harrowing though the quest has been, and interrupted by many setbacks and failures, he has successfully preserved the heart of the city he so loves. Tonight, that heart beats a steady, determined thrum that gives Laurel a modicum of solace for which she is profoundly appreciative. For although the city is not absent of violence or despair, there is an underlying dream for a better tomorrow that has kept hope alive through some of the worst imaginable catastrophes that can befall a modern city. Laurel is glad of it for an entirely selfish reason. When she can't sleep, as on nights like tonight, she can merely stare out the window from the safe confines of her bed and bask in the spectacular grandiosity and know she is not alone. Or she can draw strength from the infinite promise of a city that Oliver has labored so long and hard to save, knowing the many noble sacrifices he and his fellow heroes have made have not gone unrewarded. This Star City for all of its struggles is so much more than Laurel's ever was: a place she is proud to call home.

Home. That is a word Laurel believed no-so-long ago she would never again associate with herself. Oh, how wrong she'd been!

Her lips turn up at the corners as her eyes drift away from the gorgeous view of the city her apartment affords and then sweep downward over the serene visage of her bedmate. Nestled into their expensive body-conforming mattress on her side, tucked tightly up to the shoulder beneath obscenely smooth sheets Laurel also paid out the ass for, her other home is soundly sleeping.

There is no more lovely sight to Laurel than that of Dinah Drake. Especially as she is right now with her hair fanned out over her pillow and the lightly bronzed skin of her shoulders while her cheeks – lightly dusted with tiny freckles – are flushed with a healthy glow that indicates an inexpressible contentment. Breathing deep, slow, and steady, Dinah seems so peaceful and secure that Laurel's heart is inundated by a swell of emotion that causes her chest to ache for the sheer pressure exerted against it. Tears sting at her eyes that she quickly blinks away. The city outside the window may provide a breathtaking view few other locations on Earth can match, but the greatest vision of transcendental beauty she has ever beheld, one that no myth or legend could adequately portray, is reserved for her alone.

 _She is so perfect_ , Laurel thinks, the fluttering of her heart making her feel a bit lightheaded. _How did I ever get so lucky?_

As if on queue, before she can even attempt answering her own unspoken query, Dinah shifts slightly in her sleep and lets out a cute little noise that transitions seamlessly into a happy sigh. She then burrows into her pillow for a few seconds before going slack once more. She does not stir again.

Laurel bites her lip against an even more intense surge of affection. Suddenly compelled to touch the sole object of her heart's foremost desires and deepest devotion, she reaches across the sliver of space between their bodies. For a while she contents herself to slowly and lightly sift her hand over the dark hair falling like a wavy curtain over a jawline that is – just like the woman to whom it belongs – as feminine as it is strong. Then gently, so as not to stir her slumbering lover, she brushes the thick chestnut curtain back and carefully tucks it behind an ear that is readily available to listen to her bitch and moan about whatever asshole most recently ruined her day. Sort of like had happened over dinner earlier tonight.

Dinah is innately good that way. Thoughtful, patient, empathetic, and kind without being a total pushover. Able to comprehend Laurel's problems and offer insightful advise without seeming judgmental. Supportive to a fault and yet principled enough to call Laurel whenever she becomes inordinately fixated on inconsequential issues or mired within the muck of her own bullshit. Willing to endure one of Laurel's patented diatribes at a swanky French restaurant they'd had to wait a month to get into without reacting like most would in her situation. Instead of getting upset or causing a scene for the ruination of what should have been a romantic dinner, Dinah just sat there as Laurel ranted, hands folded together over her plate, attentively absorbing the perhaps slightly exaggerated tale of an unfortunate encounter she had with a particularly unscrupulous but insanely successful defense attorney.

Earlier in the afternoon, the shameless shyster had the audacity to justify his underhanded tactics to the press by citing the newly re-elected District Attorney's " _at best spotty, handwavy, inadequate explanation_ " as to both her former association with the infamous, now deceased, drug kingpin Ricardo Diaz in addition to her subsequent lengthy disappearance. The heartless son of a bitch even had the gall to call Captain Drake's spotless reputation into question for her intimate association with D.A. Lance, to whom he referred as ' _the only openly lawless District Attorney in America_.' Needless to say, after watching that infuriating press conference, Laurel was sorely tempted to, for one night only, forgo the Black Canary leathers in favor of those she wore as the Black Siren. She did so miss the fishnets and dramatic coattails...

" _I know that guy. He's a real slimy bastard,_ " Dinah had said once Laurel ran out of steam, perfectly calm instead of exasperated to the point of anger as most would have been after their partner nearly made a scene in public. " _I'm pretty sure he rigs juries. Or did. I saw him one time after court schmoozing with the bailiff right before what should have been a slam dunk guilty verdict came back as a hung jury. Judge ruled it a mistrial. Tossed out the case. I never could pin down anything illegal or find a connection to nail him with. Maybe you'll have better luck than me, though, using that big brain of yours. I bet with your elephant memory, you'll be able to put all the pieces together and figure it out where I couldn't. I'd be happy to put in a request at evidence for the case files if you want. Just don't let him get to you. If he does, he wins, and you're better than that. Just remember, babe, that even if the whole world is against you, I will always believe in you._ Always _. Okay?_ "

And just like that, the irritation Laurel felt evaporated into so much ephemeral mist. Not only had she been provided with a tentative and productive game plan to deal with the unscrupulous thorn in her side, but she had a partner who was willing to stand by her side no matter what social or professional cost was incurred. Heedless of where they were, she was so relieved and grateful and giddy over Dinah's earnest show of support that she yanked her over the table by her pretty blue tie into a searing kiss that garnered a lot of unwanted attention.

Not that Laurel cared what anyone thought about her public displays of affection with Dinah. They have both endured too much pain and fought through too many obstacles to be together for the opinions of others to have any influence on how they conduct their relationship. So what if some ass backward bigots and puritans don't like that they hold hands in the grocery store or exchange relatively chaste hugs and kisses while strolling along a busy sidewalk. Let them stew in their own ugly prejudice until they are reduced to withered husks! As for the gawkers, well, why should she give a damn about them when they are simply jealous of her? As well they should be. There aren't many women, and even fewer men, who wouldn't jump at the chance to be loved by someone as amazing as Dinah Drake. C'mon. Not only is the woman loyal, passionate, and professionally driven, but she is ludicrously hot. Seriously. Dinah at her worst, all disheveled and grumpy of a morning, is gorgeous enough to put a Victoria's Secret model to shame.

 _Too bad so sad, losers,_ Laurel sings internally to Dinah's many admirers who would like nothing better than for Laurel to fuck up their relationship so they can swoop in to help Dinah pick up the broken pieces of her heart. _Well, that's never gonna happen. She's mine now and I won't ever be letting her go._

That last thought elicits an image of the ring stashed safely in her safe at work – a rather extravagant gift from Sara, who popped in about a month ago after a successful mission thwarting yet another attempt to alter the timeline. Somehow, despite their familiar relationship being relatively new, Sara seems to know her better than she knows herself.

" _What's this for?_ " Laurel had asked, admiring the craftsmanship of a jewelry piece that had no business being so aesthetically perfect and intricately designed considering it was made in the 16th century.

Apparently the ring was a token of appreciation for a...favor...Sara had done for Catherine of Aragon. Rather than sell the priceless item for an obscene fortune or give it to her wife for an ungodly heap of brownie points, Sara had opted to venture to Star City and drop in on her sister at work to offer it up on a metaphorical silver platter. Ordinarily, Laurel would take such an item without question. She may have turned over a new leaf but the fresh page of her manuscript currently being inscribed does not include her being a moron. The only reason she inquired as to Sara's motive instead of accepting the gift at face value was the subtle gleam in her sister's eye that indicated there was some sort of mischievous scheme at play. Which there was in a sense, seeing as Sara had a very particular idea as to whom the ring should ultimately be given.

" _The better question is:_ who _is it for?'_ " Sara replied, wearing that patented smug smile of hers. " _I think we both know the answer to that. It's time for you to stop stalling and bring a second Dinah Drake into the Lance fold._ "

Laurel's brows shot toward her hairline. " _You think I want to...?_ " Trailing off, she flailed and stammered a bit, unable to wrap her lips around a certain seven letter word rhyming with _froze_. Sara had no such difficulties.

" _Propose?_ _I know you do. You've wanted to put a ring on it for a while now, you just need a little nudge_ ," Sara had said, then bumped their shoulders together. " _Consider this me nudging, nice and friendly. Don't make me have to forcibly dislodge your head from your ass. 'Cause I will._ "

Laurel scoffed at the suggestion she would lose such a contest. " _Please._ _As if you could take me. You haven't pinned me on the mats yet short stuff._ " A fact that irked Sara to no end.

It was only after she returned from her stint operating as the Black Canary on her native Earth-2 that she confessed to Team Arrow that she had been taking it easy on them for the most part. That if she'd wanted to, she could have destroyed any one of them at any time without resorting to her Siren Scream. They didn't believe her, of course, so she showed them. One by one she dismantled the overinflated prides of some of Earth-1's mightiest heroes while Felicity and Dinah watched with varying degrees of awe and lust – mostly the lust was from Dinah, which was interesting in oh-so-many ways.

Once the ass kicking was over, she spent the better part of an hour recounting the eighteen months she spent in the shanty village her mentor Sandy was raised in. The brutality and rigid discipline of that place molded her will into unbreakable steel and her body into a lethal weapon. As far as she knows, Sandra Wu-San does not exist here, which means the training she received ensured she is the best hand-to-hand fighter of anyone currently operating on Earth-1. Unsurprisingly, this fact was one of many reasons Zoom broke her out of the ultra-security prison A.R.G.U.S. converted for the purpose of conducting their inhumane metahuman experiments. She didn't need her powers to defeat either Oliver or Barry, and if she did use them it was only to incapacitate so as to prevent them from receiving a catastrophic injury should they manage to really piss her off.

Sara, stubborn Lance that she is, found that out the hard way when she challenged Laurel to a League-style contest that culminated in Laurel emerging victorious at the cost of both nursing broken bones. Ever since, when Sara visits Star City they wind up hitting the mats to test their progress against one another. Admittedly, Sara is edging closer to triumph, having adapted more quickly to Laurel's mastery of various martial arts styles than anyone else she has squared off against.

The last time they tangoed, Sara almost took Laurel down with a really neat combination of a swirling evasion that segued seamlessly into a hip toss that landed Laurel awkwardly onto her knees. She only just barely avoided the screaming back kick heading straight for her temple, hastily and deftly ducking under it into a forward roll that she used to both regain her footing and put some space between them. Once stabilized, Laurel took control of the fight again with a flurry of mixed-style attacks that had Sara immediately on the defensive. Less than a minute later, she had her baby sister tapping out. Her established awesomeness aside, there is no question in her mind that soon enough Sara will get the better of her, if for no other reason than Father Time is on Sara's side. Laurel is not slowing down yet, but eventually she will.

That said, there are only an elite handful of people she would be proud to cede her superiority to. Sara is at the top of that list. Beyond being family, she is a friend Laurel has come to rely on for wisdom in time of need and a fellow doghouse occupant to commiserate with over their mutual misfortune in having fallen in love with opinionated women who share a strong moral compass that every now and again begs to be offended for the sake of entertainment or expedience. Not only that, but Laurel loves Sara for her own sake and has learned to value the occasionally contentious and ever fascinating sibling dynamic she never got to form with _her_ Sara.

Rather than take the bait as Laurel expected, Sara merely grinned at the slight, clearly aware of Laurel's tactic and having none of it. " _There's a first time for everything, Sis. I'll get you sooner or later. And stop deflecting. We're not here to talk about your freakish facility for martial arts. We're here to talk about how you're finally ready to settle down with the woman of your dreams._ "

For a long spell, Laurel merely sat there quietly studying the ring. As she turned it over between her fingers, she began to imagine how perfect it would look on Dinah's finger and how radiantly happy Dinah would be if she were to grow a vagina and ask. Because she already knew what the answer would be. The only doubts Laurel had – and still does – were about herself. She's pretty sure Dinah has been ready to take the plunge for a while now and hasn't said or done anything solely out of respect for Laurel's issues with commitment. No, it's her that was the problem, and she had wondered what Sara detected that would convince her highly observant sister otherwise.

" _How can you tell I'm ready for such a big step when I can't – couldn't?_ " Laurel finally responded, sounding as vulnerable and uncertain as she felt.

Sara shrugged as if the answer was a no-brainer then stuffed her hands into her back pockets as she shifted her weight. " _Easy. You look at Dinah the same way I did Ava right before I popped the question. Like she's your whole world, your everything, and that your life would feel meaningless and empty without her in it. Like you want to wake up every morning and her face be the first thing you see. Like to you the sound of her voice is the melody to which the very universe dances. Like she is an angel from heaven who loves you in spite of your many flaws, and because of that you would willingly storm the gates of hell to keep her safe and would much prefer the cold embrace of death than to ever be separated from her. Like you've been walking through this world fragmented for so long you forgot you weren't whole until you met her, and now that you have finally found the missing piece that completes you there isn't anything you won't do to keep her where she belongs._ "

It was the grandest speech Sara ever gave to Laurel. And totally on point.

There is no mystical prognosticator from any Earth who could ever have predicted that Dinah Drake would become the other reason Laurel has finally put down abiding roots after more than a decade adrift upon a turbulent sea of bitterness and rage and hatred. Actually, that isn't true. Dinah isn't the other reason at all. She is the _main_ reason. And that is why Laurel accepted the ring from Sara. She has yet decide when or how she will offer it – and the choice to spend a lifetime together – to Dinah, but it is an inevitability instead of just a possibility, which is no small miracle.

Funny, before she met Dinah, Laurel did not believe in miracles. She had stopped believing the impossible the day her daddy sat her down at six years old and informed her that Santa Claus wasn't real. Everything after that had to have a feasible explanation. Her father used to say that her questions had questions, which was a fairly accurate assessment of her need for logic to dictate her actions. Even her choice to become a notorious criminal was not made purely on impulse. Emotion had certainly factored into it, but the decision was made with cold rationality. Life was too unpredictable for her to leave anything to chance and had been too cruel too often for her justify neglecting to return the favor. Meeting her father's doppelganger here was mere coincidence to her, a happy accident that she was all too willing to accept if it meant she got a second chance to be Quentin Lance's daughter.

Now, however, her opinion has shifted diametrically. And how could it not have when being loved by Dinah every single day is a miracle in and of itself?

By every conceivable metric of analysis, they should rightly hate each other. Or at the very least Dinah should hate her after what she did to Vinny. With one unsubtle threat, Cayden James had callously set them both upon a path that statistical probability concluded would terminate in one or both of them dead.

Outside of the obvious chemistry that has always existed between them, how they managed to defy those overwhelming odds is a matter they still debate even after almost two years together. Dinah credits the development of their relationship to Laurel's willingness to take the second chance Quentin offered along with how hard she worked to maintain the strenuous course her deceased father set her upon. Blossoming admiration and respect, according to Dinah, were the foundations upon which her love was built. Laurel, on the other hand, insists that Dinah's forgiveness was responsible for transforming the hurt between them into a positive, binding force that inexorably drew them together. Never had she hurt someone more deeply and intimately, nor has she ever known such undeserved mercy and grace as Dinah showed to her along the long and painful path she unsteadily trod toward becoming a benevolent, productive member of society.

What is not debatable is that before Laurel was even aware what was happening, she had waded waist deep into a vast, crystalline ocean of pure love for Dinah that she has yet to discover the ends and depths of. The only emotion Laurel has ever experienced to challenge that enormity of that love is the self-loathing that frequently terrorizes her heart over being the recipient of such an invaluable resource and having been entrusted with the exceedingly precious woman for whom that resource exists. There is no adequate recompense she could ever provide for the senseless destruction she has wrought; nor is there any exorbitant fee she could scrounge up with which to redeem herself of the evil she has perpetrated upon countless innocents; and there is certainly no acceptable offering she could present to the formless cosmic magistrates of universal justice with which to expunge her innumerable sins. In the end, there is nothing she could ever do or say or give or sacrifice in order to deserve Dinah's love. And that, perhaps more than anything else, is what prevents her from taking Sara's advice.

How can she ask Dinah to marry her when she feels like there is no end in sight to that abyssal maw of malignant doubt and fear? Or more importantly, what if one day far in the future Dinah wakes up and finally realizes how much better she could have done for herself than settling for a severely flawed former villain?

Laurel shudders at the thought when she finds the idea of Dinah walking away from her right now unfathomable. After so long enshrouded by night inescapable she is walking once more in the brilliant light of day. Being plunged back into the darkness might do to her what even losing her Ollie couldn't. Back when the news reached her that _The Gambit_ sank with a total loss of life, she nearly went careening headlong over the jagged handrails guarding the sanity of the human mind. But she hadn't loved Ollie nearly as much as she does Dinah, which is absolutely terrifying because that means losing Dinah would almost certainly destroy her. And if that is how she feels now, she can't imagine how much worse it would be for her if they actually get married and live happily for many years before the awful truth of her unworthiness becomes too much for Dinah to continue blissfully ignoring or graciously forgiving.

Would she even survive such a catastrophic level of heartbreak? If so, would the threadbare emotional existence she would be condemned to be a fate worse than death? There are no words available to the English language appropriate to express just how much Laurel does _not_ want to discover the answers to those questions.

As if sensing Laurel's silent turmoil, Dinah's eyes slide open right as Laurel is set to retreat into that old, decrepit, cold pit of despair she used to crawl into every night when she was detained by A.R.G.U.S. At first, Dinah appears anxious and worried over having been awakened out of a deep sleep, but in seconds her expression evens out as awareness returns and thereafter she settles quickly into an intense study of Laurel's face. Without a need for verbal communication, Dinah reads the insecurities and fears plaguing Laurel's mind as they play out across her features. Within seconds, comprehension seemingly dawns, softening Dinah's expression into one of heartfelt consolation and reassurance. She then rescues one of her arms from the covers to grasp at Laurel's hand hovering over her cheek. Eyes sliding shut, she guides it down to her lips and presses her lips against the palm, breathing in through her nostrils as the kiss lingers.

When Dinah opens her eyes again, they are shining unmistakably in the faint moonlight. And although there is curiosity there as to why Laurel is lying awake in the wee hours when morning comes frightfully early for them, she knows when not to press. Like always, she puts Laurel's need ahead of her own.

"I love you," she says, still clutching Laurel's hand and then inches closer until their knees brush together. A nudge or two is all it takes for Laurel to get the hint and open her legs so that Dinah can slide in the rest of the way, their legs tangling together as their torsos seal flush from breasts to hips. All earnest sincerity and unembellished beauty, she brushes their noses together before pressing a tender kiss to Laurel's lips. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she poses, playing with Laurel's fingers with one hand and delicately trailing fingertips down Laurel's bare arms with the other.

Laurel shakes her head in reply. Truth be told, there isn't anything she can think of that she needs right now besides what she already has. Dinah is enough for her. More than enough. So long as Dinah is by her side, there is nothing she can't do, no enemy she can't defeat, no feat she can't accomplish, no fear she can't conquer, and no doubt she can't put to flight.

"Just keep being you," she says after a moment, voice heavy with emotion. "Keep loving me like only you can. That's all I'll ever need."

"Then that's exactly what I'll do," Dinah replies softly, then pulls them even closer together if that is possible and cradles Laurel's head into the crook of her neck. "Everything's going to be okay, baby," she then coos as she rubs a soothing pattern along the space between Laurel's shoulders. "I've got you and I'm not going anywhere."

Laurel nods, tears pricking at her eyes, and nuzzles her nose against the silken suppleness of Dinah's skin. She breathes in deeply, reveling in the sweet and intoxicating blend of coconut and lavender derived from Dinah's preferred body wash and lotion. Her frazzled nerves settling as she envelops herself with Dinah's essence, she closes her eyes and focuses in on the sounds of Dinah's steady breathing and the faint sound of her heartbeat.

"I love you, Dinah Laurel Lance. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm going to be here in the morning when you wake up and every morning after. I'll never give up on you and I will fight for you until my dying breath. Know why? Because you're worth it. You're _worth_ it. And I swear I will eventually convince you of that, even if I have to tell you every single day for the next fifty years. 'Cause that's how long we're going to be together if I have any say abo..."

And that is the last thing Laurel hears before she succumbs to the irresistible pull of drowsiness that suddenly overtakes her. Safe in the arms of the only person aside from her father who has ever loved her unconditionally, she falls asleep with a soft smile and is pleased beyond description to find it is still there when she wakes up the next morning.

 _Alright, Lance, time to put your thinking cap on,_ she tells herself as she lazily watches Dinah shuffle out of bed and stretch. _You have an important plan to make, the most important one of your life, and it has be absolutely flawless._

After all, Dinah deserves the perfect proposal and that is precisely what she gets. Laurel makes sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece was 100% inspired by [this post](http://nnuknnuk.tumblr.com/post/184180120639) by [nnuknnuk](https://nnuknnuk.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr. If you are any sort of DinahSiren shipper, go give that blog a follow. The art style is so unique and fun and cute!


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